He is not the man I see in those photographs anymore.
He does not recollect or respond to mention of that person.
His lack of fondness in the memory seems to be a cold mocking of my own past.
You still think of that? Look at those pictures?
'I have albums full of pictures in the bottom of that closet. I never look at them though'
Why do I? When all the other people that were present then do not care, remember, wish to remember.
That man is no longer around, maybe not even alive.
And I think that perhaps, if I had loved him and called him daddy in the years when I didn't even call him... perhaps that man would still be around
If I hadn't let him receed
If his own daughter hadn't attempted herself to change him.
Maybe if he had known that man was so quietly revered
Maybe... it doesn't even matter anymore.
We all grow older, colder, more realistic
Whatever, you name it, we all call it something different.

I want you to know, your soul shines on

So... I get the feeling, once again, that I am merely drifting.
This time it doesn't piss me off
It is what it is.
A couple of nights ago, I had that dream about TBJ and now I am replaying bits of the relationship, quips if we were to ever meet again. And I don't like it.
I don't like to remember that kind of stuff. My past has become sort of... Blotchy. A large portion I don't recall, because I don't want to, because I don't need to.
Because I need to forget it in order to stop living every moment in it.
And a phrase keeps coming to mind: I want to be happy regardless.
--
Tonight I thought 'were are you going to drive to?'
what are you looking for when you wander... how often do you see the road, do you escape into the drive
and how often does your mind take that time away to recall the past, problems, future, hassles
how often do you smile? how often does it make you happy? really happy?
-----
i have no work on fridays. so i take the day and do nothing. and then i take saturday and do nothing, and sunday.
and i come to monday and feel rushed.
well well, look who did that to herself.
it gets done, it always has and it always will
---
i am no longer fulfilled by myself, though my anxiousness is not something cured by others.
--
Fear of growing up? To some extent, but there should be.
Fear of being a child forever? Of course- it has lost its major value as my baby fat fell away and the cold maturity grew from my chest.
Cold because it does not receive like a child would. Cold because it means that I am no longer the age to cry and scream, torment but be found adorable.
But it is not the significance of bodily maturity that bothers me. On the contrary, it seems as though it was a tool given to me in the place of my childish mannerisms.
Again though, that is not where I wish this post to go.
--
Instead, it is actually the child- with her blonde hair, lopsided face, and black marbles for eyes.
Oh yes, I know that girl's face well. Often I have gone to those pictures in my life, checking to see what features are the similar.
From the growing distance between us, I must find a way to tie her to me or else it is possible we were never the same.
The expressions and affection she shows, now trapped in time, are pure- unwounded by that which has occurred in the interim.
Will I look at my face in five years and say 'if she only knew' about the girl I see?
I don't think so.
Ah but I like her so, as I do the moon, and I wish only to do right by her.
Though I know she is merely an image, lit only by the soul that shines to her surface
As the moon is lit only by the sun.
And that soul that I am so fond of, which makes her eyes deep and her face glisten, is the same as the one that writes this now.
I pray that I never lose her, though I know perhaps she has no home with me in the future- maybe only safely placed on a shelf. Though I swear that shelf will be beside the bed in which I lay to sleep.
---
When I look at those pictures, I say to her, whether verbally or not
'I want you to know, Baby Girl, your soul shines on.'

It is quite possible that all I am is a child- immature, needy, too quick to judge and speak, etc.
That in spite of any academic success, my manner of speaking and thought is purely that of a child, unequipt to deal with the real world.
Because it is harsh.
Because what I say is ungrounded, more often than not.
Because when you quote me later, I do not recollect saying such odd things.
This is a sad fact, or idea, because it means my attempts to live an normal, mature life will be greatly stifled.
"Creative energy" sounds nice but only gains full truth when placed before "wasted"
Yes, I am mentally unsound, horrible at having personal relationships.
I am manipulative, weak, not trustworthy, and all of those other character defects that made secluding myself a appealing idea.
So it goes.
I am moody, lazy, tiring to be around, and extremely odd. I stay away from people my own age, become increasingly shaky and heated when conscious of my actions in front of others.
So it goes.
So I must learn to control myself- both my thoughts and actions.

Dreams about TBJ

Scenario
-----
-----

Him: You mean to tell me you don't ever dream about me?
Me: No, I dream about you. About once every month. You live in apartment 111, in a complex right off the freeway. The off-ramp curls around to the main street off of which the entrance to the complex is. I've never seen your roommates, but you have at least one. I can't remember what your puppy looks like, but you are constantly having problems with him. You usually call me in the late evenings, stating hassled apologies for not calling me when you said you would but I don't expect anything of you anymore. I am willing to try you again, every month, though I am not so understanding in real life and I wake up thinking "I would never do that". And I wouldn't. But that is what separates the dream from reality. Does that answer your question?
I'm still waiting for a reply.

Hello, Full Moon.

Holy shit, sorry I haven't posted in a while- been in a bad place, or a place where nothing terribly important ever happens.
My grandmother had a really bad allergic reaction to something a couple of days ago. Its much better though.
I think you knew that Layla has her new tires on... just hoping no one tries to steal the rims because there are no locking lugnuts on them.
Truly, nothing has been going on.
Tonight is a full moon. I am thinking of taking a drive earlier than usual tonight.
That way I can smoke my last cigarette in the hot tub, drink hot chocolate, and stare at the moon.
(I will refrain from howling)
Other than that, my life is still dull. And I like it.
So, a picture of Layla with her new tires?

Sleeping Eyes

I have been thinking about TBJ. Not really "thinking" thinking, more subconscious thoughts where I am the successful fuckhead and he is nothing to me.
And he is nothing to me. But I run over the scenarios in my head every once in awhile, over and over for a few days. Eventually, he will fade away into the dark recesses of my weird mind until my next pre-menstrual week.
But I thought I should mention it. And I don't think that having such thoughts makes me nuts- it was a situation and a time that has marked effects on who I am today.
I search my reflection for the eyes, mouth, nose, expressions that I readily gave away two years ago. What is left of them that I should be proud of? That my outline of my eyes naturally glows? Yes, I do see that. I see that amongst the craters of my skin, my eyes have remained unfazed. They sit at the ready- to emerge when needed, when the rest of me has become suitable for their strength.
This face that other people see. And what do they see? What the hell do they see when they look at me, when their eyes fall upon my face for a fraction of a second while searching the room for someone worthy or beautiful or interesting.
And during such moments, my eyes remain in hibernation, though they alone would fulfill those criteria, or so I believe
(but let me go on in my little world for a little while longer)
Though someday, with heart, soul, and the physical aspects of my being, they will come alive and one will surely take note. Maybe only one.
But they are alive, though tired.
Beautiful, though natural.
perceptive, though untrained.
Untouched and underappreciated as they were placed on a face that gives them no justice.
Though in time, they may become known- become the a striking feature of a striking girl.
They will because it would be so unfair otherwise.
The skin will become clear, the face and body stronger, the smile willing, and the mind... will shine through those eyes. As more knowledge fills it, the mind will show through those eyes.
And what you have heard is true
That when she cries, her eyes turn blue.

Today is my 15 month anniversary. Hurray, me!
I was reading what I wrote a year ago.
I like the girl, everyone knows that... but she and I have alot of differences.
I was still on the fence about giving up my "friends" at that point. Arguing with myself about letting Ray go, writing about talking to Davis on the phone...
Okay, frustration is kicking in. I can't think and put words into writing.
DAMN IT.
Who cares?
About what I drempt last night
About the fact that its my anniversary
About what I think
About what I feel
About where my head goes, what I want to do when I grow up
About how insignificant my existence on this planet is
No one. And that is how it should be. That is how I made it.
I should be pleased with myself that I don't give a shit about those people anymore, I don't write about them with emotion flooding my eyes. I should be glad that I don't attach myself, throw myself at the mercy of other people. I should feel satisfaction because I don't lie anymore, because I am not that person anymore.
I DO NOT WANT TO BE THAT PERSON ANYMORE. I JUST CAN'T.
True, I am still sitting on the fence in many ways- I haven't made amends to anyone, I have no life, I'm lazy, and I am anything but fit to be an adult.
But that is how I like it. That is WHO I AM, GOD DAMN IT.
I don't have the patience at the moment to write anything meaningful or powerful.
I am frustrated.
The mother fucking end.

Awkward Soul Behind Brown Eyes

There are many things I do in my writing that I couldn't really explain or observe in other's writing.
----
Sometimes I am doing something good- paying attention when other people talk and acting like a good girl- and I pause, wondering who is this girl? and what am I doing?
In that split-second, my brain analyzes my actions, overformulating my circumstances and responses. The result is a faulting face and voice, however briefly- a glimpse of an awkward soul still lurking in the depths of hazel eyes.
Losing the involvement of BEING the girl. Reverting back to being the unsure mind inside the girl.
That is, in the process of trapping myself in the significance of my actions (what were, are, and will be) I lose the essence, the soul of the girl. She becomes no longer a person available without restraint. She becomes lost to her own scrutiny.
I am doing it for a reason. I am talking to these people and enjoying the interaction for a reason. But always the child, the hesitant, stifled, timid being within emerges.
When I do well, the child stifles me. When I do wrong, the child emerges with no dilemma to present.
Its in the times I do wrong that you should stop me. In times I do right, leave me be- put your ear to the door, hear laughter and pleasant chatting, and walk away with a pleased smile.
I do believe I have it in me to see these things through- I think I know how to begin, end, and make the interim gratifying.
Am I being to vague? Most likely.
I believe that there shouldn't be any need for me to regress during social interaction. I believe that I am a pleasant, happy, and interesting person- as well as able to see those qualities in others- and should have no hold on myself when I exhibit these traits in conversation.
For now I have lost the thought, signaling it is time for me to sleep.

So I hit a fire hydrant and lost my check book.
I am going to lay down now.

American Lit B

AND TRUCK IN SHOP
-------------------------
So... there is a real need for me to work well in American Literature B
I have been told this is my strongest subject, a real talent and passion, something I should make my career out of, you really should do something that requires writing.
This is the last of my curricular English needed for me to graduate
Making it very important that I do well, read well, write well, and decide if I want, or even can, pursue this further...
Or if I should steer my later education towards sociology or psychology
--
If I really thought that I would be able to consistently do well in writing, I would probably follow it with little anxiety. I am not sure that is the case.
Sociology or psychology, probably viewed as more difficult (educationally) SEEM to be the easier choices- I know I can study, test, read
Lather, rinse, repeat
I don't know if I can analyze literature, write creatively and effectively
Or if I even have the knowledge to write properly. If I do, I hardly ever exercise it.
At least not consistently.
And on that note, I don't know if I can do ANY career, ANY secondary education consistently
Do it well, learn, obtain the knowledge- and use it.
These are very important things to me and something I need to guarantee for myself if I am to spend outrageous amounts of money on tuition and books, etc.
I have toyed with the idea that the stress of college might loosen some creativity out of me.
That is only if I discipline myself religiously in the other areas of my life
(which shouldn't be a problem, judging by current status)
So unless something comes up or I am able to judge better by this course...
I will probably end up in sociology or psychology.
What do I want to do with my life? Where do I want to go to school?
It has been put off for a long time now. If all goes well, I will be graduated by a year from now.
Then what? Get a REAL job?
Yes, I suppose so.
Anyway, this class is going to be a window into my future possibilities, even if only four years of it.
-----
My truck is spending the night at the Goodyear.
The new tires should be mounted- lugnuts had to be ordered because the ones sent with the tires did not fit. Not a big deal really.
New shocks- all of the old ones were leaking, bad stuff. Very expensive.
Bearings tightened- loose and whatnot.
---
Reminder:
Look into ways to read faster and more efficiently

This is me and my Canon- the camera my dad gave to me when he retired from photography- at the dog beach. Canon is 17 years old and probably the first (nice) camera I ever used. Tenba and Canon go on lots of vacations with me.

This is Tenba.

Would you run north? Tenba to L.D. with me... maybe

You have enough money to run free, you know.
It just wanders around with you.
Where would you go? North? Its north you would go. Not to Miami or Phoenix.
You would go where it is cold, away from everyone you know.
If you stayed south or went east, you would have places to go.
No, you would go north; into the great, cold unknown.
---
But I have no reason or want to leave. I will stay.
It is interesting to think about though- where what when how, bla bla bla.
-----
I went up and did a survey today at N's work. Got paid for it.
I have this bad habit of telling people "no thanks, you don't have to do that" when they try to pay me. Everyone thinks I am nuts. And I am.
My face is particularly hanus this afternoon. It sucks. BIG TIME.
I have been eating chocolate every morning when I wake up. Because I am a shithead who has no perspective of what my eating habits are really doing to me.
And though I look horrible, I am not really down. If I can convince myself to go down to my grandparent's house tonight, I will take Tenba.
See pictures below for Tenba and Canon- my travel buddies.

Scenerio: Quitting Job and Being Rich

Scenerio:
Him: Shit Kel, why don't you just quit? I mean, if I were you I would say "Fuck It" and quit
Me: I can't quit
Him: You could if you wanted to
Me: Really though, I can't
Him: Why? What the hell would make you want to stay there?
Me: Insurance; I take meds that cost hundreds of dollars, and a lot of them. Without income and without insurance... and no back up plan... I can't just walk off and it will all work out...
-----
Him: Can you imagine being that rich?
Me: No. I don't know if I want to.
Him: Come on, like you don't dream of being rich. I do, does that make you think less of me?
Me: Very funny and no. I "dream" of being rich too, but not like that. Not just for the fuck of it *gesturing with hands* "Oh let's go spend some money- I think I will buy a new diamond". I don't want to be that kind of rich.
Him: Yes, but people don't start out that way. Let's say that you get a large amount of money, free of any taxes and whatnot- wouldn't you want to buy yourself some stuff?
Me: *pointing at TV* Not like that. "Buying Yourself Some Stuff" is going to get a pair of jeans you don't REALLY need and that kind of crap.
Him: You say that, but if you had the money things would be different, I am sure.
Me: What would you do?
Him: *making a gesture to communicate "Who, ME?"* I would limit my personal spending, if that's what you want to know.
Me: Safe. Safe answer. Shithead.
Him: *smile* Since when are you the monetary Saint?
Me: *jokinly pretending to be angry* YOU asked ME- YOU. Asked. ME.
He smiles.
Me: I do not think it would suit me very well to be "rich".
Him: What about wealthy?
Me: Wealthy, rich, whathefuckever. You would do well rich.
Him: What does that mean?
Me: Nothing. Diversion.
Him: Screw you.
Me: Screw YOU; go home, go to sleep and dream about being rich
Him: I would buy an island far, far away from you first thing
Me: *laughing* So be it. More likely, you would find me unacceptable for your company and not have to bother buying an island.
Him *laughing*: Fuck you.
Me: Fuck you too, fuck you too.

Scenerio: Quitting Job and Being Rich

Scenerio:
Him: Shit Kel, why don't you just quit? I mean, if I were you I would say "Fuck It" and quit
Me: I can't quit
Him: You could if you wanted to
Me: Really though, I can't
Him: Why? What the hell would make you want to stay there?
Me: Insurance; I take meds that cost hundreds of dollars, and a lot of them. Without income and without insurance... and no back up plan... I can't just walk off and it will all work out...
-----
Him: Can you imagine being that rich?
Me: No. I don't know if I want to.
Him: Come on, like you don't dream of being rich. I do, does that make you think less of me?
Me: Very funny and no. I "dream" of being rich too, but not like that. Not just for the fuck of it *gesturing with hands* "Oh let's go spend some money- I think I will buy a new diamond". I don't want to be that kind of rich.
Him: Yes, but people don't start out that way. Let's say that you get a large amount of money, free of any taxes and whatnot- wouldn't you want to buy yourself some stuff?
Me: *pointing at TV* Not like that. "Buying Yourself Some Stuff" is going to get a pair of jeans you don't REALLY need and that kind of crap.
Him: You say that, but if you had the money things would be different, I am sure.
Me: What would you do?
Him: *making a gesture to communicate "Who, ME?"* I would limit my personal spending, if that's what you want to know.
Me: Safe. Safe answer. Shithead.
Him: *smile* Since when are you the monetary Saint?
Me: *jokinly pretending to be angry* YOU asked ME- YOU. Asked. ME.
He smiles.
Me: I do not think it would suit me very well to be "rich".
Him: What about wealthy?
Me: Wealthy, rich, whathefuckever. You would do well rich.
Him: What does that mean?
Me: Nothing. Diversion.
Him: Screw you.
Me: Screw YOU; go home, go to sleep and dream about being rich
Him: I would buy an island far, far away from you first thing
Me: *laughing* So be it. More likely, you would find me unacceptable for your company and not have to bother buying an island.
Him *laughing*: Fuck you.
Me: Fuck you too, fuck you too.

War Over Clean Smelling Laundry

I really don't know if I want to go down to my grandparents tonight or not.
I probably shouldn't hang out here all day by myself...
But I just did laundry and none of my clothes smell like smoke now.
So I really don't want them to. Yes, I know, I am a smoker. But regardless of what one might think, I do not like my body, my clothes, and especially my hair to smell like it.
It's a thing, okay?
So I am trying to figure out if there are any clothes I can sacrafice for the greater good...
Probably. I will go. I will be bitchy for the first 20 minutes or so and then perk up. I will be asked to eat something, eat something, go get yourself something to eat, eat some of this until I am about ready to lose my mind or my temper.
But I love them. So I do it anyway.
I'm tired, bored, worthless today.
Though I did get some work done. And I did get the other 3 tires.
So I spent a good amount of time ripping all the tape off and rolling them around the house.
Okay, I hate this offically.
Goodbye.

Lee (some place to start)

I was reading over some of my posts from the early days of this blog. Most of them amuse me- the show strength and resolve; a girl with a mission and a surviving attitude.
But there are a few that were mean to an extent that I now feel bad about.
Such as "The Family Idiot" which depicted my brother quite badly. None of what I wrote was untrue. But I feel I cannot proceed any longer without writing of who he is now- it would be slander otherwise.
----
My brother is 20 years old for a few more months. I could start out by saying that he lives in the downstairs of my father's house still, but that would, once again, shed an unusually harsh light on him. Perhaps there is no way of getting around it...
--
Lee is one of the most interesting people I have ever had the experience of not knowing. Inside and out, he is truly incomparable.
----
He seems to have an ever evolving need to use his senses as a passage... to where, I do not know: because he cannot keep his world confined to just him, but he cannot divide it amongst strangers.
I have a limited knowledge of him because, as one might notice, I am a stranger.
Many things could appear to be, and quite possibly are, a paradox in his life
His most pursued passion of the current is producing music: constructing that with no words, only a consistent pulse as the basis of a misunderstood symphony. Layers of sound resting upon one, eternal beat. Underappreciated because it is not the norm. Striking because it is so often unnoticed; only the intuitive ear can perceive and value its contents.
It is because it is uncommon, though, that it is so esteemed by the few.
He restricts the interaction with his family, and maybe his friends as well.
He lives in the downstairs, alone.
He works cleaning a car dealership, alone.
Often he sleeps through the day and walks somber at night.
Yet through the glass of the dealership or through the wood floorboards, you can hear the pulse of his music- a auditory glimpse of his mind, what fills it at that very moment.
Steady, alive, confirming
and of course greatly misheard
But the disregard from most, the unusual hum viewed as irritating by some,
Is why the fascinated listener
Will lay with her ear to the floorboard.

Trembling Voice

I almost forgot... before I go to sleep, I have one more incident I need to relay.
The text message reads (and I quote):
Hey umm its been along time since I talked to u miss ill call u back...
I don't like this person. I do not like him at all and I don't like what happens to my stomach when I have any notion of him. It makes me feel weird and it starts to hurt after a while.
I never want to talk to him again.
Is that too much? Yes...
Well, then I do not want to talk to him for another year. Then he can rear his mocking head up again and we will see what happens. Until then, I don't want to hear from him.
Truly, I wish I understood what effect he has on my stomach.
Like he has a little voodoo doll of me. Every time I know that he is near, in any sense of the word, my stomach burns in the echo of a hot poker. Someone is branding my insides- what letter or symbol is being burned into me, I have not a clue.
I have no physical or mental attraction to this person. I have no need for the drama or to be dramatic. I have no ties emotionally to him that would merit a physical reaction. There is no reason, no just cause. It is just fucking ridiculous.
Do I seem (or feel) insignificant around him? Is there something I am suppose to prove?
Yuck, its just truly yucky. I did not feel such a feeling around my father, though he is one of the most important men in my life. I do not feel that way when I am visiting with Kim's family, walking through halls full of strangers. Perhaps I can recall it from the times I sung in front of people on stage.
The first, a humbling and humiliating experience. Putting on makeup in the bathroom, my purple dress bought for the occasion. Watching some of the other girls sing their songs. It was a Christmas show and I was one of the only ones not singing a seasonal song. My family was there, Kristin and her family came to watch, and of course the other girls with their families.
I don't remember standing up or the faces of anyone in the crowd.
Just my legs that did not wish to hold me upright
Just my shaky voice, singing
"You can't buy it at the store
Try it on for size, Bring it Back
If it don't feel right,"
a few notes of the accompanying tape
"No love, love ain't like that..."
but that was all I could do. the singing stopped, but the music did not
"I'm sorry, I can't do this, I'm sorry"
my voice teacher urged me to stay up there, continue, keep going
the music tape kept playing and it came time to hit a high note
"Luh-uvv," attempted in a desperate voice
it was the chorus that was dreaded
the notes, strained for weeks in preparation, were unsure
unattainable by a shaky, straining voice
but after the chorus, after trying to escape, being persuaded to go on
one more attempt to save the performance; what verse was it now, what were the words?
"You can't trade it in,
Like an automobile,
With too many miles,
and rust on the wheels,
No love, love ain't like that"
completed with apprehension, possibly beautiful if not for the trembling voice
but the singing broke off again
"I'm sorry, I can't. I can't"
last words before turning the microphone off and walking away suddenly
no one laughed or mocked.
all family and friends were kind and supportive.
--
I returned to voice after that. I apologized to my teacher, who told me that many of the girls began like me, that all of the families felt for me.
The next time would be different, yes.
Two songs.
At the last minute, asking, pleading that the more difficult one be cut
Only a few numbers before it was due. It was cancelled, skipped.
Eventually there was no hiding; my surviving number came up.
Purple shirt, khaki capri pants, clunky black shoes; purchased for the occasion
Got up, merely by the will of God because my legs would not have worked otherwise
Got the stool from the side of the church stage and dragged in to the middle.
So scared, for some reason. All of the faces, none of which can I remember now.
And the only one I couldn't see was my own, the only one I couldn't read.
No one mirrored it back to me. My family, whom would have been the obvious choice, shined with support and pride; I had made it further already.
The music began, I sat on the stool
checked the microphone to keep from looking ahead
at the faces, of people, filling the church pews
"Spend all your time waiting, for that second chance,
For a break that would make it okay,
There's always some reason,
To feel not good enough.
And its hard at the end of the day
Need some distraction..."
I was singing it; I stayed seated and searched the faces for a mirror
any clue at all...
The voice was shaky
Getting enough air to continue was difficult
My stomach held tight enough to constrict my lungs from filling all the way
Each line my breathing was noticeable
running out too soon
Any way at all that it could embarrass me, harm my performance
give me anxiety
reason to read expressions as pitying rather than enjoyment
whether that was correct or not
But I finished the song with only one mislaid expression
and that one trembling voice
Though much better concealed.
-----

Peaceful, Easy Feeling

I would like to be writing this on my blog but, alas, I have to scan the computer for viruses and can’t stand to wait for the internet to load. Therefore, I am condemned to Word. Damn it.
So I have been sharing a few of my posts with N. who finds them interesting and disturbing. That is my entire existence (if I may so flatter myself to say that I am interesting).
She says that sometimes (key word) nightmares, or dreams, are a sign of the creative mind. I think I am probably just nuts; too quick to comment without thinking, too many voices, too many mood swings- and that is probably true.
Regardless, I am much better than I was- which I will continue to point out- though I am not the skinny and flirty person of my former self. Some day-
Again, this irritation sits tight. I fell into my bed this evening barely resisting the urge rip apart my pillowcase. I made it through Arkansas without yelling or screaming, or otherwise truly losing my temper to an uncontrollable extent, and now I am busting for no reason at all.
I have fooled with the idea that I feel guilty or unhappy to have left there. In part this could be true, but I have taken great lengths to keep myself from knowing what is really the matter- if I found out, all hell would break loose; I would find that my reason is totally unacceptable and shame myself for being such an idiot. I’m really a bitch.
But at least I am home- where I have my coffee how I like it, my comforter, my chair, my books- and a large segment of my family. Though, no, my father is not out here and yes, it does make me sad.
It is an odd change of events; that I like him and that I no longer wish to fight.
He is what I would consider a friend, I suppose, which makes me all the more susceptible to trouble of whatever form.
No longer does he leave the room to talk on the phone, something that irritated me. When he sees that I am sad, he puts on The Eagles and sings with me, however horrible it may sound. If he recognizes the look on my face that shows I feel out of control, he hands me the keys- and should I decide to drive all night, he would not allow me. And on the way to the airport, when the trip is ending, he will put on “Take it Easy” and we will sing off key once more.
And I am glad to know this person- a striking clarity. It seems appropriate, if not ironic, that after years of therapy, drug use, cancer, rehab, and all the other trials sometimes known to unite…

Thesaurus Words of the Day

Reason
Grieve
Source
Quick
Weakness
Admit
Punish
Infer
Useful
Cruel
Dub

What Gives You Pause, My Child?

What is it that gives you pause, my child?
Have you not all that you have wanted? That you have worked for?
Do you not wake up and see a different person in the mirror? One that it happier, more sincere?
What, then, could it be that gives you pause?
Has something come to you in sleep that halts your spirit?
Is there guilt for returning to your bed?
A nightmare, it could have been, that supplies reason for crawling back into your cave, your shell.
The confidence; a girl that wakes in a moment to realize she is not prepared to fulfill the roles created in her absence.
Do you not wish to proceed?
Is there not a spirit you need to awaken?
Can you not find motives to go on?
Surely you know that she is happy, that she is trying, that she is succeeding.
Grieving for swift changes? Or to stifle those changes?
Are you able to tell me the source from within?
The body, the mind, the spirit, the heart; what is it that weeps?
--
You do not believe that you are akin to Samson, do you?
That your hair, in it's long length, is the basis of your strength;
That love would betray you, scald you, blind you, and leave you in chains.
Though you do not drink wine or touch the dead, your lack of faith ends that belief swiftly.
----
Ironic, though that the man was raised by God, with gifts given to him from that being, and betrayed by man, through admittance of his own weakness.
A man of God, betrayed because he told his flaw to man.
That is, that man can drink and break all vows to God, but it is the disclosure of vulnerability that led to his demise.
It was not the wine. It was the hair. Of all the vows, it was that which condemned him.
But my knowledge of the bible is limited and thus my reason is as well.
--
Regardless, I will end this evening reading the bible instead of watching television.
Because it is interesting and endlessly valuable in daily life.
---
Goodnight. My (what one could dub) nasty sense of humor will return soon.

So, tonight I do dinner duty with my grandparents for the first time in almost a week- which is, in fact, a long time.
I have talked to my dad today and told him I love him and miss him. And I do. It was a good visit- we did not yell or argue at all. I think that I have developed into a confidant. When I touched down, I was a different person than at LAX- and whatever it was that has changed allowed me to get along better than I could have expected.
I did see Kim and her family
(yes, I am going to start calling them by name)
In fact, I saw quite a bit of Kim. I only cried and broke down on one occasion. Things went well. I can't go into detail at the moment because a stab of irritation is lingering below the surface.
Self-Disgust is waiting for just the right moment to fuck with me.

So, tonight I do dinner duty with my grandparents for the first time in almost a week- which is, in fact, a long time.
I have talked to my dad today and told him I love him and miss him. And I do. It was a good visit- we did not yell or argue at all. I think that I have developed into a confidant. When I touched down, I was a different person than at LAX- and whatever it was that has changed allowed me to get along better than I could have expected.
I did see Kim and her family
(yes, I am going to start calling them by name)
In fact, I saw quite a bit of Kim. I only cried and broke down on one occasion. Things went well. I can't go into detail at the moment because a stab of irritation is lingering below the surface.
Self-Disgust is waiting for just the right moment to fuck with me.

Back in CA, short

Well, I am back in California tonight.
Where to start... the trip turned out much better than I had thought; I got to see my grandparents twice, Kim (formerly known as LD) quite a few times, and her kids once or twice as well.
I really can't write at the moment. There is plenty of time, I just don't have the right mindset.
Goodnight,
K

Not Quite 24 Hours in AR

So its been fine so far- but don't get your hopes up yet; it hasnt even been 24 hours yet.
The plane ride was fine. The plane left around 4:50 pm, and as usual it flew out over the ocean before turning around and heading back into the land. I looked out the window at the ocean and land and thought words like "home" and "beauty" without actually feeling them much.
Back inland an on into night. It got dark fast- and just as quickly I became bored with work. Maybe over half of the flight I just examined the outside world.
It is most remarkable the world that exists at night from out of the window of seat 10D on my little flight.
It felt like I was in a space shuttle and the ground below was actually constellations and planets- worlds of stars scattered in chunks randomly among the surrounding black. If I had tried, it is possible that I could have gotten myself to revive in the idea.
I began to get shifty in the last leg, reisisting the urge to ask someone what time it was- there is something calming about not knowing.
But soon the pilot came on with news that we would shortly be landing.
It was cold getting off the plane and surreal because I had yet to zap myself out of autopilot.
We dropped by the dealership near 11pm to check out a car, where my brother was cleaning. His ever changing aura, once again, had me taken aback. Though he now seems more approachable than the person I knew even 2 months ago.
I unpack quickly at the house. Retiring for only a short while to watch TV before laying in bed for over an hour. I heard the dogs barking outside and recalled that my dad had intended on letting them in.
Knocking on the door of his room, he told me that it was warm enough that they would stay outside for the evening. I was tired enough to allow that answer as acceptable.
Today, I went to lunch with he and Kim- all was fine. We then drove by the lot in the country that they intend on making an offer on, later building a house.
Now back at the dealership and again tired of work. At some point you have to cut it out before you totally zone out.
He looks healthy to me and happy.
I seem to be approaching this much better this time. Something in my pleas got through and I have been able to maintain a good attitude. I know, its only been a short time but I was able to listen at lunch and enjoy company. That is a big deal for me- who spends most of my time alone. I am realizing that if I do things in a way that is healthy for me, I am much more capable of placating myself.
My frustrations are minimal and have more to do with my lack of concentration in work than anything else.

Peanut Butter Sandwiches and approaching departure

Possibly my last post before I return to Arkansas. In the interim I am stuffing myself with peanut butter sandwiches
Crap. I am able to ignore the fact that I am really boarding a plane tomorrow by staying on Autopilot as much as I can. I will probably get back there with no toothbrush or underwear, just because I am not paying attention (mindfully) as to what the fuck I am doing.
I am going to brush my teeth now, be right back.
Lord- I have been chewing the inside of my mouth and that toothpaste has baking soda and peroxide- painful.
Yes that is one way to tell if I am slightly off (whether nerves, focusing, brooding) - I bite the inside of my mouth, sometimes to blood. Its a very bad habit and hurts. But it is amazing how quickly the inside of one's mouth heals.
-----
Ah, I got off there for a while. Basically, I am going back there tomorrow and I am looking forward to killing time at the airport where I will be free of bother and banter. I am very much appreciative of all the alone time I have. Very rarely does it drive me nuts.
My eye has been on a twitching rampage every time I mention the trip- a great way to present myself to my father and LD (and co.)
N. asked a good question- will I have access to a vehicle to free myself when necessary? I do not know but she said it should be likely, giving me slightly more peace of mind. Yes, well, it does very little good if you are in denial till the landing.

Goodnight. I will do an online crossword and keel over. Early tomorrow- perhaps to the beach.

Momma

I leave tomorrow for Arkansas. Shit.
Crap. Asshole. Fuck. Bastard.

I had a dream about my ex, MD, last night. I don't know what the pretenses are about it... but of all my ex acquitances, he is by far the one I have nightmares about most. Though he is not the one I had the most intense feelings for, he was the one that I wronged the most. And I have done a lot wrong.
Still haven't called "him" (he who remains nameless). I don't think I will until a moment of utter and complete dispair. I won't lie- he makes me laugh, and I can almost forget that he talks about himself and never asks me any questions (because he doesn't care? I don't know)- it frees me from responsibility- he fills in the silences, he talks and makes jokes and voices, and I do what I do best- listen and observe, and laugh.
(Though I will not lie- that is not what my mind and body does most often, listen and observe- I am too quick with words that later embarass me. But listening and observing are the things that I do best when my mind can shut the fuck up.)
----------
I am considering going to the beach this afternoon, maybe just drive by or something. It isn't too far and I would enjoy getting out of here and out of work.
I wish N. wasn't so preoccupied currently with job and whatnot- I would really like to wait for the evening and have her come as well.
-----------
My mom (momma) is a very interesting, and of course wonderful, woman. She does not have the same self-conscious nature that I display. She sings in the car without looking around to see if anyone is staring. She is clear and kind; inherited the ability to joke with anyone. She holds her temper and her tongue when she can stand it- though she keenly knows when her happiness or the happiness of others around her is being compromised, not afraid to then speak up. She loves truly and fights hard.
The first in her family to ever complete college, she continued to get a PH.D in English literature and to teach at the University of Arkansas. I think it is fitting that she enjoyed teaching- for someone who has such knowledge and such a dynamic personality, it would be a shame to keep it to one's self.
(my papa dropped out first semester and married his young bride, my mama, who never went to college though she had the brains and scholarship to do so. Later, my mom's only brother would drop out just short of finishing)
In the past half decade, it has been great to watch each day change her into a happier person. I can attribute the same trait in me- the continuing success of my sobriety and conquering of new fears, gradually but surely- quite easily to her.
And need I mention the support? Of course, she supported me, despite the fact that she should have kicked me to the curb, should have stifled herself of forgiving me, should be weary and resentful of my presence. But she was not. In true form and true grace, she was quick to forgive (while she will not forget- thankfully) and to assist, so happily, in my sobriety. Even though for so long she had to straddle marriage and motherhood in an uncertain balance, she prevailed.
Momentarily I will mention about my step-father: he too took great, though careful steps in placing trust and love in me. I could have never imagined the relationship and affection I have for him today. I make him proud, which is an honor, because I know that he would not give compliments falsely- it is not his style. He says what he means always (or close)- a quality extremely difficult to uphold. It is his pride of me and his love for me, which is sent back tenfold, that is one of the best gifts of my sobriety- otherwise I may have never known him, which I am sure would leave an vacant part of my heart and life.
But back to my mother- When I was a little girl (yes, its that time again) I remember sometimes she would cry and say that one day I will grow up and not be her little girl anymore.
To her: I will always, always be your little girl. I will love you and respect you till my dying day and beyond. You have blessed me with brown eyes, a big heart, strength, and humor- all of which are my favorite features. Your love and pride is my joy. For your forgiveness and support I have 14 1/2 months of sobriety- someone to share my successes with, to rant and rave my failures, and to laugh my ass off inbetween. Because of you, I have a home. And perhaps you will never have a full idea of how much you not only helped me, but also so many other people unknowingly. You are a true southern belle- try to remember that.