Currently Listening No Need to Argue By The Cranberries see related

I dream in black and white...I've long forgotten exactly who I am.

"Growing up it was just me and my mom against the world,
And all my sympathies were with her when I was a little girl,
But now I've seen both my parents play out the hands that they were dealth,
As each year goes by I learn more about how my father must've felt."

I need a new zip code, or preferrably a new time zone and a new state of the union.  Cos godforbid I speak my mind or ask not to be beaten down for saying the simple word "no." 

I am trying not to focus on the fact that I am now a "mentally ill" monster in the eyes of my family and some trusted friends because of a foolish prank I attempted as retaliation for the bruises she left on my body and the ghosts of pain she reawakened in my too-old-for-this-shit joints.  I didn't hit, I didn't punch, I didn't kick, nor did I savagely attack.  Instead, I served my dish of revenge cold and kind of smelly.    I didn't cause any pain...discomfort, annoyance, temporary inconvenience maybe, but no pain, and I am still this monster, and they stare at me as if they've never seen my three heads before.  How could the good girl go SO bad? they say.  I say, honey, I am so sick of your bullshit, you ain't seen nothin' yet!

So my mom decided the other day to unload every mean, nasty, rotten thing she's ever wanted to say to me in a five minute screaming match.  And I'm not going to kid myself that she probably wasn't just blinded by rage, but some of them were quite funny, others tragic...mostly though, they hit a nerve that, I think, needed to be hit. 

Mentally ill was my favorite, since of course, most of my "mental illness" I got handed down by her shoddy genetics.  The woman has been unsuccessfully battling manic-depression for almost twenty years now along with an assortment of other ailments.  She often skips work because she just can't handle getting out of bed.  And then she comes to me with her money worries and I look at her and smile and say, "Well yeah that depression gene you gave me sure is a bummer sometimes, but I have only called in sick TWICE in the last year, and TWICE the year before that because I don't see making money as much of a choice when I've got bills to pay!" Yeehah!  Score!  And she wants to judge me for an attempt at not taking shit from my scrappy, drug-addict, stick-insect younger sibling?

She said she's been so scared of hurting me all my life because I'm oh so sensitive and can't take criticism well.  I'd like to know who on this planet can take criticism WELL.  Raise your hands.  I don't think anyone likes taking criticism.  I mean sometimes it can be constructive, but it sure as hell is never FUN.  And we have quite the pot-kettle-black relationship when it comes to criticism anyway because whenever I mention her shortcomings as a mother she gives me the worst look of suffering and I am such an ungrateful child cos I think she can do better. 

But...

"I don't wanna talk about betrayal, I don't wanna talk about sudden, undeserved commercial success, I don't wanna talk about my lawsuit against a certain rock'n'roll 'icon', who by some freak coincidence is performing right next door at Bush Stadium and to whom I taught everything he knows, and apparently has forgotten, about rock'n'roll!"

God I love Hedwig!

I just want to get the fuck on with my life cos who needs family when they only drag you down.  I am willing, ready and able to take criticism as long as people can bring their own shit to the table and admit to it.  I am the first to admit that I have a long way to go in being anywhere near a perfect human being, but I know I'm decent, honest, caring, hardworking, smart and generally fun to be with.  I have a lot of lessons to learn and a lot of room to grow, but I also have a lot going for me that they don't even know about. 

"I am a work in progress
dressed in the fabric of a world unfolding
offering me intricte patterns of questions
rhythms that never come clean
and strengths that you still haven't seen"

I would like to use this space to document my progress: successes, failures and lessons learned. 

So right now I'm going to take a deep breath and count my many blessings:

1. My dogs - I don't know how many people in the world can understand how those guys keep me grounded and loved when there is no one else around.  And they don't ask for much in return.  Just a walk and a pat every once in a while.  Animals, in general, keep me breathing when everything else is gone.

2. Friends - you know who you are and I am so lucky to have you, and maybe you're lucky to have me too?

3. My girlfriend.  She is the light of my life right now.  She gives me unending strength and support and a place to stay when I'm not welcome at home.  She puts up with my mess and my snoring and my not having dinner ready til almost 9pm, and she wants our future as much as I do.  I have found someone worth working hard for, worth being the best person I can be and struggling through the hard times for.  I love you Amy.

4. I got a promotion.  It was a long time coming, but I am finally going to be full time with benefits and a 5% wage increase to boot.  I am recognised in my job for being consistant, committed, flexible and hard-working.  So yay for that beyond all the perks.

5. I am going back to school (again) yay!  I only have two quarters left until I graduate (fingers crossed) and then I will finally have accomplished something and stuck with it through the end.  And I will be able to move on to bigger and better things.

6. Money.  I am finally starting to save some as well as making payments on time. I feel like such a grown up..finally...at the age of 26.  I try not to compare myself to others because some of my friends my age have made it far beyond living at home working a kinda crappy job and still struggling through just their associates degree, but some have not and for that I am thankful that I am not alone! 

And then there are the rest of the wonders of this world we live in that I don't give enough appreciation too on a daily basis.  Music, laughter, hot chocolate on cold winter nights, being domestic, holding hands, dinner with friends, nice long chats to catch up, a pat on the back or a thumbs up, a smile from a stranger.

"Come celebrate each
privileged, exceptional thing:
water, food, sleep --
the absence of pain --
a night without fear --
a morning without
the return of the torturer.

A child safe,
a mother,
a lover, a sister.
Chosen work.
Our lives are not commonplace --
any of us who read this..."

Thank you!

Bad Habit

The bitter wind licks my fingers hungrily as I flick ash out the car window.  It wants its pound of flesh tonight.  I try to argue that my hand would be less than half a pound, and besides I need both to drive.  Unphased by my logic it whispers that it will take my nose instead.  I obviously don't need my nose, it argues, since I smoke. 

"January 3, 1997

I've been sort of hesitant to mention this, but I believe that one of your employees-- you must know the one I speak of-- is a beaver. It's impossible to look into her face, to hear the sounds she makes, and to see the way she moves, the way she carries bits of wood, and to not feel that this is a beaver. I've not mentioned this before because, obviously, beavers are powerful creatures."

Some of you have read the other poems I have written for the creative writing poetry class I am taking this quarter, and though I've gotten much praise for them from my friends, I am still unsatisfied with how they are turning out for me.  My second poem for this class was workshopped today.  The metaphor I was using came across quite clearly, some liked it and some didn't.  One person loved it, but said the language was a bit stale.  The teacher liked it, but said I wasn't taking enough risks.  I agree wholeheartedly with both and appreciate their candor.  See for yourself.  I am very much open to constructive criticism.  I suppose I'll post them both here now:

First poem (I'd written in a long time):

Last Kiss

I always wonder

if you regret me

the morning after.

I wait patiently

by the phone.

There should have

been fireworks

bursting overhead

for such a kiss,

But when I looked up

the stars were laid out

like a banquet set for two

the full moon

our kindly chaperone

I may have imagined our halos

formed from the steam of

our breath unwelcomed

by the cold night air

But I tasted that image

for the rest of the night

as if our indiscretions

had been burnt

to my tongue.

And the one that was reviewed today:

“Your eyes were like pools stars could bathe in”*

The ebb and flow

of you

is hard to master.

I’ve been pulled along

by the fierceness of

your undertow

and come up

gasping

for sanity.

Then, just when I think

I have learned to pacify

your waves,

your affections trickle away

until I could walk

for arid miles

and never find you.

My options are to drown

in all that you are

or languish in the

shallow pools

of your absence,

baked like a beached whale

on the shores of your

callousness.

I still find it so romantic

to stroll along

your sandy beaches

exploring the outer reaches

of your soul.

I might like to dip my toes

in your lukewarm waters,

under twinkling starlight,

but I don’t think

I’ll swim tonight.

*From Mary Dorcey’s “I Cannot Love You As You Want to Be Loved”

So feel free to tell me honestly what you think.  I hold a strong belief that poetry that appeals to people does so because it perfectly blends the personal with the universal.  It can express something deeply meaningful to one person, but also allows many others to identify with its sentiments.  That is what I aim for.  And don't forget the "Bad Habit" one at the top.

On to a new subject.  Why I haven't been blogging.  I meant to...honestly.  I love to write, as most who read my blogs can tell.  I have been accused a time or two of being quite verbose, but I don't mind.  :P  I wanted to write an inspirational piece for New Years, but then the New Year kind of hit me hard with a car accident in the first 14 days, immediately after taking out a hefty loan on my first "new" car.  And it was a beauty, and a beast of an accident.  It's now the 8th of February and I'll hopefully have my car back soon in one driveable piece.  I'm still very much excited that it has four doors!  I will never forget the fun times had in the bug, but I feel my energy has expanded beyond its limited form. 

Other than that whole learning curve, I believe the other illness of which my lack of writing is a symptom, is stagnation.  I feel like I'm festering here in this life and all that it entails.  Happy pills no longer seem to take the edge off this gaping hole in my self worth.  The question keeps running across my mind, "Why am I alone?"  Sure a relationship isn't the be all and end all of happiness, but I have to wonder why people come in and out of my life so quickly, why who I am doesn't seem to spark the interest I would like it to spark in certain people, and then why I have a hard time believing others even find me attractive or engaging. 

And I know I'm not alone in any of these issues, don't get me wrong.  99.9% of women I know have some sort of self esteem issue that has them chasing the wrong people and always ending up in heartbreak. 

But I have to wonder, and tell me to shut up if I've beaten this question to death, if I am just living completely wrong, and all of my aforementioned bad habits are keeping me from Ms. Right.  She did say she didn't want to kiss an ashtray...and my new years resolutions to drink more water, walk my dogs every day, drop a couple pants sizes back into the "normal range" (at least below 40!) have all gone to hell in a handbasket. 

And then his words echo in my head:

So I'm working on finding my path.  That's all I can do.  I tried going back to school in January, and ended up dropping 3/4 classes.  Is one step forward worth 12 steps back?  I'm tired of waiting for my life to settle enough and my health to be bolstered enough for me to be ready for this.  And I'm tired of making excuses for myself.  Try again next time?  I will. 

I am hoping to make a career move that will mirror my career aim in life.  Wish me luck if you please. 

And right now I also want to remember the inspiration for my journey back to my original plan which was to devote my life to the care of animals.  My dear Moses died January 26th of last year.  I had a court appearance on his anniversary.  It was a grey day, but I still send my prayers up to him, hoping he's listening, watching me and not cringing too often. 

I think I've probably gone on long enough, probably much longer than some readers would like, but I'll leave you, as I so often do, with a song.  From a film that added meaning to my last days of 2006.    Any of you who have not seen Hedwig should see it NOW!  The song can be found on my myspace page.

Here's to us....

Midnight Radio

Rain falls hard
Burns dry
A dream
Or a song
That hits you so hard
Filling you up
And suddenly gone

Breath Feel Love
Give Free
Know in you soul
Like your blood knows the way
From you heart to your brain
Know that you're whole

And you're shining
Like the brightest star
A transmission
On the midnight radio
And you're spinning
Like a 45
Ballerina
Dancing to your rock and roll

Here's to Patti
And Tina
And Yoko
Aretha
And Nona
And Nico
And me

And all the strange rock and rollers
You know you're doing all right
So hold on to each other
You gotta hold on tonight

And you're shining
Like the brightest stars
A transmission
On the midnight radio

And you're spinning
Your new 45's
All the misfits and the losers
Yeah, you know you're rock and rollers
Spinning to your rock and roll

Lift up your hands!

Currently Listening Knuckle Down By Ani DiFranco I gotta knuckle down and just be ok with this... see related

You've got your whole life to do something and that's not very long.

I wouldn't have compromised as much
so much of myself for fear of
having you hating me

There was once a boy, who was born, like most of us, with a mind full of wonder and a heart full of love.  But the boy learned quickly the price of loving.  He was kicked and beaten, or left behind by all those he should naturally trust. 

I would've sung so loudly
it would've cracked myself
I became self-conscious
of anything exuberant

One day, after he had taken all he could bear, he wrapped his beaten and bloody heart in a burlap sack and burried it deep within where no one could touch it anymore.  And as he grew into a man, he added layers of armor, in the form of indifference and self-absorption, until the blood barely flowed to his beneath the thick skin of his chest.  The pain and injustice of life could no longer affect him.

I wouldn't have sold myself short
I wouldn't have kept my eyes
glued to the ground
if I hadn've known my invisibility
would not make a difference

Love became something he studied with a feverish passion until he thought he could remember what it felt like.  He decided that he would have to find someone to love him, as he understood it, so that he would know for sure.  And so he met a woman who, unlike him, had left her heart open to all of life's wounds until it was nothing but a bloody pulp barely beating beneath her rib cage. 

I would've run around screaming proudly
at the top of my voice
I wouldn't have said it was in fact luck
I'm talking idealism here

The woman wanted to give all her love to a child, and the man who was still very much a hurt little boy thought she could give it to him instead.  They were, indeed, a match made in purgatory, and, some might argue, made a mistake in choosing to create a life in such chaos.  When the man found out the woman was going to have a baby, he couldn't believe his luck because now he would have two people who could teach him what love really is.  And although he contributed very little to the child's creation, he would grin widely at anyone he met, and holding her in his arms he would say, with such enthusiasm, "Look at this little girl I created to love me!" 

I would not have been so self depricating
I wouldn't have cowered
for fear of having my eyes scratched out

The man's first daughter was born, as most people are, with a mind full of wonder and a heart full of love, as yet uncorrupted by the cruel world that so often renders people incapable of giving and receiving that blessed emotion.  And as such a child, she showered love and affection on the man who gave only scraps of attention and kindness in return, and called them love.  And the delicate woman taught her first daughter that you may give of yourself to those that you love until your heart is bruised and your body is broken and you may still never get what you need from them in return, but you keep on giving. 

I woundn't have cut my comfort off
I wouldn't have feigned needlessness

The little girl learned from both her parents that love was something you gave away freely with little hope for return.  As she grew older, she tended to chase after the ones who were too wrapped up in their own struggles, or already too badly hurt by the ugly world to give any love away.  She was captivated by these emotionally corrupted people, and whenever she came across anyone who offered her anything constituting real love or affection, she would look at them with alien eyes and run in the opposite direction.

I would not have discredited
every one of their compliments

But having had a taste of what real love is, to have someone care for her as much as she cared for them, when the first man in her life had never been able to - she ran away from him too, knowing now that neither of them could save the other.  And when the man found that his daughter was no longer in his back pocket to give him all the love and affection he needed on a regular basis, he started to feel something, deep within, for the first time.  The feeling he slowly recognized was loss.  And the feeling made him start to think about all the things that existed around him that he hadn't given much worth before.  He questioned why he felt this ache in his long-buried heart with his daughter missing, and he realized it was because he loved her too.  And in order to win her back he realized he had to show her he loved her, not just with empty words, but with deeds, with a show of understanding for who she was and what she meant to him and the world.  And he didn't really know how to do this, but he was determined to try. 

it was your approval I wanted
your congratulations

That is the lesson I taught him, and this is the lesson he's finally teaching me:

A simple conversation.  Christmas time, 2006.

Me: Is there anything in particular you'd like me to get you for Christmas? (expecting a 20 minute diatribe about the latest fad he's into or the next book he'd like to read...)

Him (no prompting): Having you as a daughter is all I could ask for.

For the past two years, the man who was never taught how to love, has been trying his best to learn how.  He tells me constantly how proud he is of me, and though I can't always see why, it's good to hear. 

I am learning to define myself now, in my 25th year, taking notes from those who have known me the longest.  I am learning that loving someone or yourself is better late than never, and perhaps the recognition I was looking for from him and so many others is not the ultimate goal I should be striving for.  I still have a long road ahead of me in finding myself and developing some self respect to put an end to hopeless patterns, but most days I have the courage to walk that path, and as they say:

"The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step." 

This has been an important one.

You are still the song I sing to myself when I'm alone

I see you lookin' around at the people on the street
well, things aren't what they seem
if you push them hard enough
you'll find that most of them do not feel worthy of love
now how did this come to be?

Love and loss...

Where does love begin?
Where can we find
its source?
Does it start in the body
or first in the soul?
Is passion, some
fine tuned symmetry of spirit
or no more than a random
chemical reaction?

- Mary Dorcey -

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day.  Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel.  None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch.  And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones.  And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied.  It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

- Elizabeth Bishop -