Somewhere in Arizona…

The idea for this post comes from a very dear friend of mine.  Since we met, it has been an ongoing understanding that we are soul mates – each others’ better half.  Our bond over the past few years has only grown deeper and distance has not even tampered that.  As we are both now away from our once so familiar streets, beloved Oregon rain, she is amidst Arizona desert sun and I am somewhere between palm trees and the South Florida waters, we still know each other in such a perfect light.

She recently posted on her blog in detail of the evening we first met.  I was interested to read how she interpreted that first interaction.  While our memories of it are similar, I couldn’t tell you what I was wearing and she remembers this.  I remember her gray hoodie (very much so a trademark for both of us…I believe that same hoodie she was wearing that night was shared between us for the next year).  I remember her blond hair positively glowing in the street lights that lined the Benton County Courthouse that was across the street from our decrepit apartment building.  She was lugging a huge black leather purse, which I would later come to find as comfort and always full of a wide variety of lip gloss.  Her cell phone never worked properly.  It still doesn’t.    Getting to the point…

I am going to take you past that night though.  Past the moment when I later ran into her at my favorite watering hole, which was ever so conveniently across the street from our apartment (very alcoholic maneuver on my behalf…less driving/easier access).  She and I exchanged phone numbers and in my drunken stupor, I typed her name into my phone in some strange code that by some grace, I remembered in the morning to be her.

That following morning, I awoke to the sun beating through my blinds.  It was February and sun in Oregon is never anticipated at such an early month.  My hangover was beginning to crawl over my skin and I threw the blankets over my head, willing it to disappear.  I was hungry.  It was 9am.  I was lonely, hung over, possibly still drunk, in dire need of greasy food, and was in no way willing to drive to Safeway (though it was only four blocks from our building).  I reached for my cell phone to raid the list of text messages, incoming and outgoing from the night before.  None were offensive or anything shame worthy.  Mission accomplished, none the less.  I then notice an oddly spelled name that resembled  my neighbors but I couldn’t be certain.  Screw it, I thought, and I called it.  Sure enough, she too was awake and in the same condition as I.  We both gathered ourselves, sweatshirts, over-sized handbags (very common for both of us), sunglasses to ward off the offensive glare of this strange bright ball in the sky, and off we went on a mission to Safeway.  Our grocery list read that of the standard recovery food, and I remember drinking an entire gallon of Sunny D while we sat and watched Friends DVDs in my tiny studio apartment, as I did not have cable.  From that day on, there was an understanding that we made sense to each other.

Over the course of that year, we would share apartment keys, trade apartments, complain about crazy neighbors, cry over boys (yes boys, not men yet), have our fair share of trying moments.  She would hold my hand as I stumbled home from the bar, barely able to walk myself up the five steps leading into our building.  We would break into our building after I lost my keys.  We would light off fireworks behind the police department on the Fourth of July, all the while taking shots of very cheap grape vodka in broad daylight.  She is one of the few friends to stand the test of my sobriety and stay by me.  She is my better half – the one that understands the importance of plaid flannel, leggings, and knee-high leather boots, even in 80 degree heat.  The person that always knew how a lyric could shift the momentum of the day and that songs, notes, and sounds were always the driving factor behind both of our veins.  And now we are separated by a long list of states, miles, and what seem to be never-ending freeways, yet we continue on and everyday remind each other that though the loneliness is often palpable, there is understanding and knowing somewhere in Arizona.

Well I made my way back down to the valley
Right on past 83rd street
That’s where we once belonged
But I’m gone
I swear I’m long gone

So give it up, throw your hats in the air
And change is as you ladies say
“We’ll get out of here”
Something tells me that you’re too scared to go

So the stairs that you could climb
Are the ones you’ve left behind
And your eyes light up when we talk about the past
God, I miss those songs we used to sing
Talking like getting away would be the greatest thing
Well me, I got out,
And you, you kept singing to me
Like that’s really going to set this free

So give it up, throw your hats in the air
And change just as they land
You’re saying, “We’ll get out of here”
Something tells me that you’re too scared to go

Like a ghost
You’ve been haunting all these dusty old roads and old homes
The ones we swore we’d never go, oh oh

The Format – Give It Up

Three years ago in our old 525 building...

Learning to say no…

It is interesting to see how people change and shift after a period of distance.  When once they had seemed so complete, only now I am seeing the reality of but a shell.  Maybe distance had me keeping him on a pedestal.  Maybe I believed him to be different.  Maybe I was never as irrevocably broken as I once thought I was. Oh Oregon, you are going to be tricky to go back to.

It was almost as though I was floating above myself when saying the words.  I was given the opportunity to give honest words of thought, love, mind, heart, and what I truly desire.  As they left my mouth, it felt as though the emotion I harbored so tightly inside escaped with the words as they found themselves audible.

I find it now to simply be that as I waste my heart away, I leave it irreconcilable.  I can relieve this though.  I can press forward and heal.  As I assess much of life, is this heart a risk worth taking?  Not anymore.  It’s mine, all mine.

It is interesting to see the forces that people built around them to keep others out.  I have been known to have a bit of a protection barrier, but this man, he rebuilt the Berlin wall.  I always said that he was East and I was West (which carried even stranger symbolism…) and only were there few moments when he allowed his fortress, Berlin, to crumble.  As we spoke a few days ago, I knew Berlin to be at full guard.  It was as though it was there as a gift just to give me closure.  But the silly part is, and what I told him, I will never find the closure that I so desire from him.  We all know that’s not what I wanted.

I am coming to terms now with exactly what I want.  In my general assessment of a ‘risk worth taking’, is he now?  I don’t entirely know.  I believe it to be an unnecessary weight on my heart to carry anymore regarding him.  I am who I am though, and I have always been one to harbor a ship of hope for the future.  Was he a risk worth taking in the first place?  Absolutely.  I can say with safe regard that he was the best and worst decision ever.  The most damaging parts came at my own hands.  And the best parts, well, they are beautiful memories kept hidden between songs, lyrics, morning coffee, and newspapers.

I learned something tonight about risks and how to properly take them on.  I may have been a bit lenient in the past with them.  At what cost to ourselves are we willing to be put on a line?  When do we say “No.  Stop.  This has gone on enough.”?  I said no tonight and with that, have taken myself back.

I can’t stay over you.
It seems we drive forever but can never get away from here,
just one more try.
I’m guessing you are over me, I guess it’s bravery.
Well cause it’s black out the window while you sleep in the passenger seat.
It’s gone.

Oh when it’s always on your mind but you never speak of the name.
It’s in your blood and face and I’m certain it’s fame.
So I stayed out in the car cause the weather had gotten to me.
But it’s really these road signs and freeways that I can’t take.

This can’t be how you live.
It’s like a, a ball and chain around your waist or this simple state.
Your mind’s sick again.
I’m tasting nothing but 4 words, “please don’t leave me”.
And it’s Dark in the winter so your ideas start to sleep.

Well your head is spinning like that carousel,
and I know you’re a mess after 3 or 4.
But if you make it different then we’ll make our way to the surface,
and your favorite place.
Where we sit, and we breath.
cause I know all the words and I sing you everything.
Well they’re just thoughts so go ahead and speak.
So pick out what you like and call me when you’re on the way.
You can spend the night and hope to sleep all day.
For me it’s just another week, twenty-eight was once how I dreamed.
And with your scent on my face I can leave and have you for days.

I still can’t see you.
The summer came and we got lost, all of us.
You are nothing without her.
I still wont remember your face,
the features mix too well with this alcohol.
So we cover ourselves in your fear,
and stay to watch that moon disappear under these lights.
This city, this city’s screaming at me.
And as you breathe the words I better go.
The sun is up and taking back all the shadows that covered this ground,
and our feet, like a blanket of coal.

Lydia – It’s In Your Blood

Hi Dad, I mean Steve Martin…

I am beginning to re-think this whole quitting smoking thing.  By re-think, I really mean the patch may not be the best option.  I feel like I have been hit by a truck.  I am so nauseous that looking at this computer screen is making my head spin.  This may be brief, friends.  This is painful on numerous different levels.  I truly feel hung over.  I don’t remember smoking being this painful.  It was always so calming, beautiful, and serene, albeit killing me, but it didn’t make me want to put my head in the oven.

The list of known possible side effects of the patch reads:

• skin redness at patch area
• itching, burning at patch area
• nausea
• headache
• weakness
• dizziness
• rapid heartbeat
• irregular heartbeat or palpitations
• vivid dreams

No where does it list death as a possible side effect, which I find to be mildly comforting.  Even Advil has that on their bottle.  I am curious though as they are not mentioning suicide and depression as a known side effect.  I imagine I am not the only person out there screaming: “MAKE THIS PAIN GO AWAY!”  It’s miserable.

About the vivid dreams though – I should have thought a bit harder about this as I am already known to experience some very heavy, lucid, and intense dreams/nightmares.  Maybe this was not the best option for me.  I had four last night.  Yes, four. That I remember.  Intense.  They all slightly tied into each other but there were defining moments between them where I awoke, sat up, and had to remind myself this wasn’t real.  Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?

Briefly, I will do my best to gather these nighttime visions:

Dream #1

I was living here, but not with my mother.  I was bartending at a bar in some country area (but it was really South Florida…I never said they made any sense) with one of my current co-workers.  The next thing I knew, I was stealing money out of the register and we were all off in my car, with Skordo, on a drive through the Oregon mountains in some bizarre campground.  My brakes weren’t working and we got stuck.  There was no tie in as to how we got there, and as quickly as we arrived, we were back at work at this strange bar.  The Irrevocable Heartbreak walked in, out of no where.   He said he drove all this way to tell me he missed me.  We spent a few days together in some strange warehouse.  Then he was gone.  No note, nothing.  I woke up at this point, looked at the clock:  4:03AM.

Dream #2

I was again in Florida living on a canal with my mother and father.  Mind you, we have covered that my father has been dead for 18 and a half years so to make a long story short, Steve Martin was actually my father.  Skordo and I were on a walk and we (yes, we both.  It’s a dream, it’s not supposed to make any sense) slipped and fell in this canal.  I remember something biting my arm, hard.  Blood was rushing out of my right arm and it was in excruciating pain.  The next thing I knew, the sliding glass door was opening and Steve Martin, my father, came out in his underwear yelling “Thanks, Charlie for the Country Congress!”  He fired off two shots and the black alligator that had so attached himself to my arm released its jaw and Skordo and I scrambled to safety.  Apparently, Country Congress was the name of the firearm being used and Charlie was our neighbor that provided such to my “father”.  I wake up:  5:52AM

Dream #3

I am back in college, only this time, it is in Colorado on a mountain resort.  Now, you would think resort = fancy.  Oh, no no.  This was cabin style living, my friends, to the extreme.  The resort part had to do with the classrooms.  Drew Barrymore (really) and I were roommates and we decided to take my car for a spin.  Skordo was in the back seat and Drew was in the front pounding beer.  We parked my car in this parking garage and went for a walk.  Skordo stayed in the car.  When we came back, we were told by some random girl that my car had been blocked in, violently vandalized, and broken into.  I remember flying down some stairs at the speed of light thinking My dog is in the car.  They can take what they want, just not my Skordo. My car is mangled.  Everything, but Skordo who is scared and curled up in a little ball in the backseat, is gone.  Drew then proceeds to vomit all over me.  I wake up:  6:15AM

Dream #4

I am driving across the country with Skordo and Olive (Skordo is the only constant in all of these dreams) and we are heading back to Oregon.  We make it there in the blink of an eye and after we arrive, I feel the need to dump the car and ride my bike.  I put Skordo on his leash, park my car in some strange apartment complex, and stash Olive in a public bathroom.  We are off to meet up with an old boyfriend that I have decided to get back together with.  I run into a group of people, my age and Owen Wilson, that are goofing off in the parking lot where I stashed Olive.  The old boyfriend comes walking out of the woods (with toe nails painted black and he is wearing Chuck Taylor’s).  Somehow, in all the chaos, we lose Olive.  Years later, we have all (including Owen Wilson) reunited on this Weimaraner puppy farm (yes, it was a farm) to pick out a friend for Skordo.  As we are in the cages with all the puppies, Olive comes and jumps onto my lap.  It was like a family put back together again.  I wake up: 8:01AM

These dreams are bizarre.  I woke up just so confused.  None of it really made any sense at all.  Skordo is now barking and I want chocolate.  Off to run now.  I wish I had never started smoking in the first place…

This is day one…

It is official:  day one of Mary Stop Smoking 2009 has commenced.  I am wearing a patch on my left arm and the site that it is located is burning beyond the fourth dimension of hell.  My head is throbbing, though it may very well be hormonal.  I want to eat the left side of the McDonald $1 menu, despite my unsettling nausea.  Truly, I am so hungry yet afraid that it is all going to come right back up.  I explained all of this to my mother via text and she politely responded with “I am sorry.  It is worth it though.  Better than throwing up from chemo for lung cancer.”  Though she raises a very good and valid point, I want to bathe in an ocean of Marlboro Lights right now, complete with the Marlboro Man himself.  I do believe he died of lung cancer though.  That eliminates my fantasy then…

Between the burning in my arm and trying not to itch the patch (I am scratching around it), I am still taking  a sense of pride in this action.  It is safe to say that I feel as though I am missing a part of myself, but the part I said goodbye to was the side that was slowly killing me, and prematurely aging my skin.  Hopefully when I turn 40, I won’t look like I’m 50.

Progress, my friends.  Progress.  Every day is a new step in what I believe – and hope -  to be the right direction.  I feel that as I have drifted two years away from my volatile, torturous, and self-destructive drinking years, I am now ready to bid farewell to the last vice that was plaguing my otherwise healthy body.  If anything, I will be able to take Skordo on a run for longer than a mile without wanting to kill myself.

That’s all for now.  I am going to go raid the leftover Halloween candy and then possibly vomit.  I will make attempts at refraining to share the gory details of vomit and wretchedly vivid nightmares.  No promises though.

Farewell to a friend…

It is 9:40pm on Halloween and I am in bed.  I spent the evening tonight not in costume, but in my old ratty gray sweatpants and an oversize Indiana University t-shirt (go Hoosiers…).  My mother was curled up on the couch with Skordo, reading her book, and I resigned to my chair to read my book with Olive resting on my feet.  Occasionally, a small child would come banging on our door (and by banging, I mean that in every sense of the word.  Boca kids take their candy very seriously) asking for candy.  She and I rotated as to which one of us had to disturb our respective animal and answer the door.  And in the end, I cannot think of any other way I would have rather spent tonight.

Halloween marks an odd milestone in my time line.  As of October 28th, I have been sober for two years.  I have made no secret that this sobriety has not been a perfect road as there have been moments of consumption.  These two years though, have been a lifestyle far different from the one I said farewell to on October 28th, 2007.  This last night of true and unharnessed alcoholism was on a Saturday, the night of a very popular Corvallis bar’s annual Halloween party.  I remember very little of the night.  There is one picture of me from that night and just the memory of waking up the following morning on my bathroom floor.  Needless to say, I said goodbye to my trusty bottle that morning.

As I embark on year two of this lifestyle, I am preparing to say goodbye to yet another cohort that has followed my existence over the last decade.  As alcohol was once my trusty, and at times only, friend (or greatest enemy depending how you look at it), I have carried something else with me throughout the entirety of my adult life up until this point.  This great love, as I have come to know it well, has been there for me in times of need, sorrow, great loss, love, triumph, and joy.  I almost instinctively reach for this partner.  It is time though.  I am ready to say goodbye to my sidekick, my partner, and most trusted companion.  My friends, I am quitting smoking.

It’s bizarre that in what could seem so simple as a life sober, there appears to be a desperation of complexity.  I yearn for coffee, find strength in my cigarettes.  I have called smoking the love of my life since I was 14 and though it is slowly killing me, I would give nothing more than to stay with my confidant for the rest of my days.  I cannot though.  My lungs have been pleading since pneumonia first made its appearance in June.  I can almost see faint lines on my face and though these lines may very well just be showing from age, I cannot help but wonder if they would be there had Marlboro Lights not so gracefully waltzed into my life.  Just as the tried and true statement goes:  Like all good things, this too must come to an end.

While my friends and co-workers here are gallivanting about South Florida, dressed in their Halloween finest, I am in bed preparing to bid farewell to yet another life. What strange seduction I once found in alcohol has passed.  Though it is ever so present still for smoking, I am finding the will power I had two years ago to say that again, I am done.

This could be interesting, my friends.  Stay tuned for next week as I tell you about how I cleaned out the refrigerator out of hunger pains from my nicotine deprived blood.  Oh appetite suppressant, I will miss you so.  Smelly car, hands, clothes, hair, breath – you have met your match.

It wasn’t real…

I awoke this morning frantic.  Yes, I am aware the day is almost over, but it has taken me this long to really collect my thoughts about my dream, er, nightmare.  Every now and then I will have nightmares that are so realistic, factual, and haunting.  My nightmares, as a whole, tend to lean on the side of bizarre and impossible, but last night had me shaking.  Even in my nightmare I was asking to wake up from this and I remember begging, pleading with someone to tell me this isn’t real.  My first words this morning as I shot straight up in bed, awake and startled, were those of, “It was not real.  This is not happening.  Breathe.  Breathe.”

Today was miserable.  My off days are few and far between but this was hands down and simply a bad day.  I couldn’t really get a firm grip on anything today other than running and my laundry.  I felt flustered and distracted.  Truth be told, my mind had wandered elsewhere.  I am inclined to blame the face in the dream.

In this vision of sleep, I was so absorbed with petitioning to whatever creature it was that I needed to wake up.  I was in tears demanding to know if this was real; if it was really happening.  You would think it would have been a pleasant surprise to wake up to the reassurance that it indeed was not real.  It was the opposite though.  It set the tone for the day.  Thank you, nightmares and daemons of my sleep.  You may go now.

I wonder though, are they trying to tell me something?  I don’t mean ‘they’ in the literal, personal sense.  I mean it in the subconscious sense.  Are these nightmares present in order to rid me from something else occurring in my life somewhere that I have avoided to address, or have applied in the wrong fashion?  This one hit home.  I could feel in it.  I could touch, taste, smell.  It was as though every sensory had been brought alive and the only part missing was the literal reality.  I still haven’t quite shaken it yet.

With this nightmare, the face of him made an appearance again.  I haven’t settled yet on how to handle this.  I want to crawl away and hide from it all.  I want to run back with open arms.  I am on the fence, my friends.  Today just felt like one of those days where I took two steps back in the progress department.  Tomorrow, I will make valiant attempts in taking ten steps forward.  I guess to sum it up, today was one of those days that I wanted to be numb, but every part of me could not help but to feel.

This is all I have to cling to
Just like your now long hair…as I had asked you to for so long
In this – I am biding my time
Waiting, watching, patiently, from my ever-present distance

Frayed around the edges
Like the picture I keep of you so neatly hidden
When only in moments of weakness do I search to find you
Quietly
When no one is looking…and then I allow myself to feel

In your absence, I question
I feel you near but know this to be but a ghost
A cool trembling on my arm – a haunting
A scratch on my back – your trademark
Hiding under my blankets, I try to forget

To wander now and live
To cling and hope only for moments
To gently wait
And ever so silently whisper come back to me, come back to me

A wave of fresh air…

I did something tonight that I should have done a long time ago.  Maybe I should have never embarked on it in the first place, but let’s face it, I am who I am and I never shy away from new territory.  I trespassed into some very unfamiliar waters three months ago and needless to say, I encountered a shark.  I let him go tonight and in turn, I am free.  Oh George Michael, you are the sound in my head right now.

I have mentioned solitude to be a very tricky business.  I was quick to find comfort here and may have made a bit of a mistake.  My heart certainly is far from ready to make ties, but that wasn’t even the point.  It was all wrong; in heart, in mind, in the enclosure…but this is yet again another learning moment.  It was described tonight as a waste of time.  I find it to be the exact opposite.  I have gained so much more from it.

As I begin to create new ties and bonds here, I am encountering people that are far different than what I came to know and love in Portland.  Everything about life here is different, and I am, albeit slowly, finding the beauty in it.  A man, a man who has become a very strong presence in my life, told me something the other night that I am sure to take with me for quite sometime.  He said to me, “Mary, no one has seen the best of you yet.  You haven’t seen the best of you yet.  I can only hope though that you are surrounding yourself with those like you and those that can appreciate the beauty and amazement that is in front of them.”  Holy yes, one hell of a compliment, but it left me with more than just a quick response of true gratitude – it left me to reassess what I am doing.

If I am here to grow and to further myself and to figure out what on Earth it is I am looking for (yes, still fighting for my life), then I should not allow a presence in that could stifle this very progress.  Today, I realized there to be a semblance of this and to be honest, they had no idea what was in front of them, nor was this person capable of understanding.  In an effort to take care of myself, I made clear my reasoning (in a very sound, polite fashion) and walked away.  Maybe this is a reoccurring theme in my life, but to harness some honesty, I always leave knowing that something greater will come out of the solitude.  And tonight, I know this to be true.

As I drove home, I opened my sunroof and turned the music up.  I finally felt a wave of freedom and put my hand into the open air.  I felt the breeze wrap itself through my fingers and felt a sense of belonging here.  I belong to myself and I will let this place in.  I may wander a bit, but as I gather my wind here, I will leave knowing that the best of me is on her way.  I knew tonight that as I drove away with the breeze, I had not left a part of me with him, but taken myself back.

A day away…

So far today I have gone running (two miles without stopping to breathe or walk…my lungs are begging, pleading for me to quit smoking), fed and walked Skordo, bought him new bones, bought more gauze for my finger as I attempted to cut it off at work on Friday (which probably needed stitches), broke an entire candle display at Target, purchased super glue for my mother’s plate that I broke, did Pilates, and choked on water so much that it came out of my nose.  Good day, friends!  This should be fun…

I find that I cannot write on the weekends.  Try as I might, my mind is elsewhere and somewhere drenched in my alcohol soaked clothing, I am exhausted.  I tried to write on Saturday and couldn’t find the words.  I tried to write yesterday and couldn’t find words.  I guess it takes more than a morning off to really collect my thoughts.

As Skordo is now devouring his second rawhide of the day, I am able to take a few minutes and gather myself again.  I have been staying a busy as possible to avoid certain thoughts, actions, and words.  In between working three jobs (for those struggling to find a job, I’m sorry that I have been greedy), Skordo, and my new-found fitness routine (I swear, everyone warns you about the Freshman 15 but never the 10lbs you pack on after you’re done and have to live with your mother to pay off your student loans…oh, and she cooks with butter), I am left only with small minutes to read, entertain, and keep myself motivated.  I have re-read a fair share of my last posts and realized I was making him – the irrevocable heartbreak -  too much of a reoccurring theme and I was forgetting myself and the progress somewhere in my solitude.  Alas, I am giving him, my head, and heart, a much needed rest.

As I have spent the past two mornings off, I am finding that this solitude is not so much of a rapture as I once feared it would be.  When I first moved here, the level of anonymity I possessed and stillness that was surrounding was all-encompassing; I felt I was drowning.  I no longer feel that way.  If anything, it was a pleasant reward to come home, to not say a word, climb into my empty bed, and read until my eyelids cannot keep their strength to stay open.  To drive around alone and without a voice in my head is refreshing, and as the days pass since life with, near, and because of him, I am taking a stronger sense of pride in my own actions.  I must say, this is a pleasant life.  Even if I do despise South Florida with a passion, I am coming to grips with the fact that I came here with a purpose in mind, and leave with purpose I shall.

You would not believe your eyes
If ten million fireflies
Lit up the world as I fell asleep

‘Cause they’d fill the open air
And leave teardrops everywhere
You’d think me rude
But I would just stand and stare

I’d like to make myself believe
That planet Earth turns slowly
It’s hard to say that I’d rather stay
Awake when I’m asleep
‘Cause everything is never as it seems

‘Cause I’d get a thousand hugs
From ten thousand lightning bugs
As they tried to teach me how to dance

A foxtrot above my head
A sock hop beneath my bed
A disco ball is just hanging by a thread

I’d like to make myself believe
That planet Earth turns slowly
It’s hard to say that I’d rather stay
Awake when I’m asleep
‘Cause everything is never as it seems
When I fall asleep

Owl City – Fireflies

What moves me…

I was given a challenge not too long ago.  A friend gave me the task of describing myself.  I was not able to give him immediate words of said description and if anything, I needed time to really distinguish exactly what it is that moves me.  My friends, I am going to present you with a list.  I guess this is the better part of who I am, what moves me, and what drives me to absolute hair-pulling.

Who I am (in a nutshell):

• I am a musician.  I often lose sight of my music as writing has played a pivotal distraction.  My first love, and greatest love, will always be my music.  “...find truth in words, in rhymes, in notes…“  I find no greater joy and peace than in the simplicity of sound.
• I am a firm believer in always thinking.  I have been described as an over-thinker.  Great.
• I don’t cry like I should.
• I hate sleeping.  I never nap.  I have severe sleep issues and suffer from horrible nightmares.  In turn, I no longer find joy in sleeping, hence my caffeine addiction.
• I am a bit of a gypsy.
• I want to challenge others to think outside of themselves.  I am known to ask the question “is it a risk worth taking?”
• I find few things better in life than an evening breeze.  I would sit outside all day and everyday if the weather would allow it.  I am in turn never without sunglasses.
• I embrace my solitude.

What makes me cringe:

• The word ‘crisp’.  Can’t.  Stand.  It.
• Ignorance.  Intolerance.  Overall disrespect for those around you.
• Television.  I have stopped.  I don’t miss it one bit.
• Text message conversations.  This is entirely unnecessary and a phone call is much easier.  I am an inch away from getting rid of my phone and living in a hut.  But this hut requires internet…and running water.
• My blood begins to boil when I am interrupted while I am writing.  I think I need a hat or sign to wear that says “I am writing.  My attention span is limited.”  It requires a certain element to write appropriately and when this serenity is disrupted, I am lost.

I going could into further detail of likes and dislikes, but I find it unnecessary to share with you all my reproachful contempt for cooked vegetables (really, all), and my obsession with leather boots and flannel shirts.  I was challenged to say what makes me, and in the briefest of prose, I feel I can share enough.

The last part of this is a bit tricky.  As friends of my new life in Florida have now read a bit of my blog, their curious minds ask me about my broken heart.  I have been careful not to go into great verbal detail as I feel I cannot properly share the better parts of him without his presence.  If anything, having left this man three and a half months ago, I have only glimmers of memories of this man.  To describe simply what he once was to me, he said something to me that nailed me right on the head.  With these words, I knew he understood me and if ever I had questioned my belonging, that thought was abandoned at that very moment:  “Mary, when I catch you staring with what many would believe to be a blank expression, I know this not to be blank, but more.  You are always thinking.  You are always off somewhere.  It’s as though you are forever writing and cannot stop for even a moment just to catch up with your breath.  When you hear music, you will close your eyes and I know you are not sleeping or resting them, but feeling the notes, words, and story being told.”

It’s all I have to bring today –
This, and my heart beside –
This, and my heart, and all the fields –
And all the meadows wide –
Be sure you count — should I forget
Some one the sum could tell –
This, and my heart, and all the Bees
Which in the Clover dwell.

Emily Dickinson

Behind closed eyes…

Something has dawned on me today, something I needed to realize.  I don’t know if I really needed to move across the country with reckless abandon to figure this out.  I have made quite the production out of this but I believe I have come across something that may allow the healing process to truly begin.  The awakening:  I haven’t allowed myself to get over him.  Simple as that.

In the complexity of numb that I have grown so accustomed to, I have been quick to overlook vital pieces of the puzzle – getting over him being one of them.  I knew this would take time, I knew relocation would help (it hasn’t in all honesty), and I knew it would take finding myself all over again to come to grips with loss and this irrevocably broken heart.  The part I missed was the action I so badly needed to take to actively pursue a life outside of this.  As his face appears behind my closed eyes, I have been allowing myself to find it; to see him.  I have missed the part that with will power and true effort, I am able to make this face disappear and move beyond this.  I just haven’t tried.  I haven’t even thought to do so.

Not to say that I just expected his once so pivotal presence in my life to evaporate as though it was simply a drop, I just figured it would simply take time.  I had never quite known the power that I was so engulfed in and truth be told, I was involved with something bigger than I was – bigger than I am.  His presence eventually encapsulated every part of my being and in order to rid this appearance from my bones, I have to allow myself to let him go.  I never wanted to.  To be honest, I still don’t.  I just feel this is something I have to do.

This has been an arduous process, one that I hope never to repeat.  I could tell you that I simply want to find myself without him but I would be telling you a lie.  I just know that I have to learn to belong to myself.  It’s a silly thing this love.  I can despise it as quickly as I crave it.  There will be beauty that comes out of it, and when in doubt, this irrevocable heartbreak will lead me to something far more powerful than itself.

Yeah, he’s a looker,
But I really think it’s guts that matter most
I displayed them for you
Strewn out about from coast to coast
I am easily make believe
Just dress me up in what you want me to be
I’ll take back what I’ve been saying
For quite some time now

I gotta feel you in my bones again
I’m all over you
I’m not over you
I wanna taste you one more time again
I’m all over you.
I’m not over you

In my daydreams, in my sleep
Infatuation turning into disease
You could cure me
See all you have to do now is please try
Give it your best shot and try
All I’m asking for is love
But you never seem to have enough

Spill Canvas – All Over You