7Nineteen

ideas with legs

[i hate daisies, but i like how this photo turned out]

there's something to this idea of doing morning pages. i completely take the stream of consciousness approach and i'm amazed at some of the ideas that have spilled onto my pages. good ideas. ideas with legs, as they say.

i'm working hard at feeling good right now, and you know what?  i feel good right now.  that's such a nice switch from where i've been since march.

bringing a smile to my face today:

jodi's fantastic bus story. she has the best bus and subway stories. her writing seems so effortless and unpretentious.

rachel's beautiful photos of the ring and the kiss

this baby's face. he looks like a 40 yr old italian man in a baby's body. he's so precious.

breathing easier

[pretty things in unexpected places]

i'm really smart in one respect: i know when to get help when i need it. in other words, i managed to get in with my therapist on monday during my lunch hour.

she was full of good things like:

"anger is just hurt feelings that explode."

"you should have been respected and he didn't do that."

"you need a vacation. it's ridiculous that you can't get time off of work."

"i can write you a medical excuse to get a few days off, you know." (which I declined for fear of being forever known as the crazy woman in the office)

"you need to have some fun. don't you ever have any fun?" (to which I shook my head, started sobbing like a child and cried, "not enough. not enough to make up for the rest of it).

i went back to work, sucked it up and got on with my day. i slept fitfully last night, bad dreams constantly waking me.

but i woke up this morning feeling more at peace than i have in months.

i'm a strong woman who has weak moments.

and there's nothing wrong with that.

stripping it away

[me, bathroom self-portrait]

It's amazing what one hurtful email, received after 5 weeks of silence, can do to one's weekend. I read it and spent the first 5 minutes numb. Then I called my friend, J., and sobbed. Then I crawled into bed with my clothes on and cried every particle of makeup off of my face. I've never done that before. It's sort of amazing when you think about it.

Anyway.

When I woke up this morning, I ran to my bathroom and started giving myself a facial peel. I rubbed my face until it was red and tingling. And then I did it again. And then I did it again. I think in some weird, irrational way, I was trying to strip myself of the tears.

Or maybe it goes deeper than that....shedding old skin and all of that. I don't know.

It was pouring rain tonight. It rained so hard, and so long. I took my iPod and journal and sat on the deck, feeling the wind blow the rain onto me, soaking through my clothes. When the lightning would hit, I'd close my eyes and feel the vibration of the energy in the air, and each time, I'd wonder what it would be like to get hit by it.

Of course right after that, a huge bolt of lightning struck and scared the shit out of me, forcing me to run inside like a child. All of a sudden the lightning striking me wasn't such a great, dramatic idea.

Maybe I really am an optimist after all.

always under or above

[when you get too lazy to photograph something else, you always have yourself]

"Inside Of Love"- Nada Surf

Watching terrible tv
It kills all thought
Getting spacier than
An astronaut
Making out with people
I hardly know or like
I can't believe what i do
Late at night
I wanna know what it's like
On the inside of love
I'm standing at the gates
I see the beauty above
Only when we get to see
The aerial view
Will the patterns show
We'll know what to do
I know the last page so well
I can't see the first
So i just don't start
It's getting worse
[chorus]
I can't find my way in
I try again and again
I'm on the outside of love
Always under or above
Must be a different view
To be a me with a you
Of course i'll be alright
I just had a bad night

How many tears must fall, How many hours must my heart ache

[my grandfather's poetry book, written after my grandmother died in 1979]

my mother's illness has put her in the state of mind where she feels as though she needs to sort through her life, giving away things that are important.

i got this notebook of poetry that my grandfather wrote after my grandmother died in 1979, at the age of 55. it goes on for pages. the poetry is simple, but pure, and it makes me cry every time i turn the yellowed, stained pages.

if i could be loved that way in my life, i'd consider myself blessed.

-----

I cry when I see your picture,

Oh, how I long for your touch.

Did you know how I loved you,

Did you know how much?

I see you in everything I do,

How much can I endure?

How do I survive without you?

The months roll by,

They seem to fly,

But my darling, I still cry and cry.

with time

[benches seem so lonely. downtown milwaukee]

At first, when you make the clean break, it's easy. You feel lifted, relieved, lighter. The load has finally been lifted.

And then a month down the road, you realize how quiet your phone is. How empty your e-mail inbox is. How quiet your nights are. Instead of falling asleep with his voice in your ear, and a smile on your face, you lie awake at 3 in the morning and see images of him in your head.

And that's the only time the tears come. And tha's when you bury your face into the pillow and curse at him and ask into the air, "Why did you do this?"

You ask yourself that question too.

You never dreamed about him then. But now that he's gone, he invades your subconscious almost every night.

Some things don't get easier with time.