Starting Off Good?

Bring in 2010...I'm ready.

It's just a number...

right? What number? Oh, 2009. What's the big deal about celebrating a new year anyways? Is it a celebration that we made it out of a horrible year in one piece? Are we really that excited that a whole new year is about to start...not so much a new beginning but doing everything ALL over again? Let's celebrate getting older! What?! Getting excited about being a year older lost it's magic when I reached 18. Now it's just a number. The year 2010 is just a number, meaningless if you don't plan to do things differently this time around. My friend Molly pretty much covered this already in her blog.

So I'm not gonna go off the deep end explaining what I wish the new year would bring, because when the clock hits tonight it will still feel like 2009. It'll just be staying up late on a Thursday night, like every other night in my life. Tomorrow? It'll just be a Friday off work (but still on call), in which almost everything will be closed and I'll once again be pissed off I have nowhere to go eat. Monday? Monday will just be Monday. Another work day, a busy one at that...and I'll spend the following week reminding myself to write 10 instead of 09 at on my dates.

So here's to a new decade, people of the world. May your bad moments be brief and you find yourself with someone to face them with. May your good moments remain longer in your memory, and may you become grateful of what you have...no matter how small or insignificant it may seem. To those who came into my life this year and changed it for the better: thank you and I sincerely love you. The few of you that came into it to leave me broken and abandoned: thank you and I wish you well. I could love you too, but that would mean I didn't learn my lesson.

The year is over...and it's just a number. A number that means time, and that time is flying by. Make the most of it.

He Said It, When I Couldn't:

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

~ Robert Frost

Vanilla

Could it get any more plain and unsurprising? Really people, it's just vanilla.

I've never been a risk taker. I don't like unplanned situations and as much as I hate routine, I do enjoy knowing tomorrow is going to suck as much as today. I've never been the kind to do things on impulse (except spending money), and as some of you know, it makes me uncomfortable to meet new people.

I don't sleep around, never did. I was never the kind to date an array of people, or mess around with those I did befriend. Hell, I was always that one with the 'gorgeous face' but when people saw I was big...well...yeah I guess I didn't have much choice as to messing around with anyone. Run from the walrus, kiddies!! Lol. Alas, I digress.

I don't go clubbing, I read a lot though. I enjoy documentaries and random things make me cry. What brings me to tears? Discovery Channel commercials, beautiful worlds that don't exist (i.e. Avatar scenes at night where everything glows) and this video right here:

I'm serious...I just cried for a good 5 minutes over that little animated kiwi.

I like being a homebody, staying in and watching old and new movies curled up under the blankets. I don't have big dreams, and if I do, I'm afraid to chase after them. I like safe. I hate eye contact, but then people think I'm being weird and evasive.

So this is me: vanilla. Plain and expected. Sitting in a little dish waiting for other flavors to combine with me and make me special...because by myself I'm not too impressive.

So now I'll go to bed wondering if, at 25, it's starting to get too late to be bold. To make the first move. To stop being self concious about how I look and afraid of rejection. To one day get in my car and drive to my special happy place without telling anyone where I'm going and why. To be free if only for a few hours. I wonder if I'll have anything important to share about myself when I'm old, or if it will be a life full of would've, could've and should've.

That poor little kiwi...it died. But it flew, first.

Here Comes The Sun

Well, I spent the afternoon working in a small cramped office, trying to teach an older lady how to use software that might have been a bit too much for her. She doesn't know how to open Word. Enough said.

However, right on top of her very messy shelf I found a very out of place Ipod hooked up to a speaker dock softly serenading us as we learned to work together. I had tried hard to block out the tunes coming from it, and concentrate on work but ended up failing at that miserably. She got up for her 4th pee break, leaving me alone with that endless Beatles playlist she had just as "Here Comes The Sun" started to play. The familiar guitar notes flooded me as I stared out the window at the falling snow. "Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter." I sort of nodded at the lyrics, agreeing that the winter, in fact, has been long. Of course, referring to a metaphorical season...at least I was, anyway. "Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here." It does feel like it's been here entirely too long.

The last time I heard this song, you were playing it rather drunkishly and sounded sadder than it was supposed to. So, what else would come to my mind when I hear this song now if not you. I looked out at the fog and gray skies, at the gigantic snowflakes and for the first time I didn't wonder how you were. I couldn't bring myself to miss you or even feel sad that you've disappeared for the last 5 months. I felt no anger or bitterness, no abandonement or betrayal. I simply heard your voice in my head singing, I saw your eyes full of wonder and pictured that silly green M*A*S*H t-shirt you wore. I simply thought of you as you think of friends that have come and gone. Nothing more. Nothing less. Oh delight.

It's nice to feel nothing. So, that being said, I believe the sun probably is coming some day soon. This time I'll look up at it and feel it's warmth on my face. I might even smile, too. Hey, really, I'll smile...greater things have happened.

There's a picture of your hand, blocking my camera. Maybe it was your way of waving good-bye...

Purge, Pt. 1

AOL chat rooms, and Yahoo ones, had been the sole reason to live when I first discovered them in 1999. I was 15 and had never so much as had a computer for personal use, this was my first one. I was amazed by this new world that had opened up before me, and with it the freedom of finally being able to be myself without fear of face to face rejection.

I went to school from 8 a.m. to 3 p.m., rushed home and hopped online from 3:20 p.m. until 6 a.m. Non-stop. I do not joke. I showered, slept an hour and headed to school to do it all over again. I remember almost every person I chatted with that meant something to me. You see I actually WAS that naive little girl that thought everything typed in chat or in a PM box was true. I believed every word everyone told me, and that they only had their best intentions towards me. I was 15. I was jail-bait.

I used to get soooo attached, quickly, just because someone said some kind words to the fattie (me) and offered tenderness described in between asterisks. *hugs* Yeah, I was amazed at how much a simple "e-action" could convey to a loner like me. Everything was great. I used to talk to an Erik from California, two Ryans from Ohio and Pennsylvania, David from Greece, Brian from NY, etc etc etc. Always the same crew in the same chat rooms. The regs. I opened up completely to them, offering my friendship along with pure unadulterated trust. Blind trust. Fool's trust.

Suddenly I began to see a side to them that confused me. Their affections got more and more self-imposing and possessive. They started flirting heavily after a few weeks and almost insinuating things that at that age I had NO idea how to even get involved in. I'm serious. I was THAT girl. I never skipped school, always got straight A's, never lied (seriously, never), I didn't try pot until I was 19, never drank...I was a freakin' saint. Always good little Yari, obedient to mom and dad and such. Naturally, when they realized this was actually a good little virgin they were talking to and not some little slut pretending to be coy...I became the ultimate trophy.

Needless to say, I felt nauseous that the people I once considered close friends turned out to be wolves in sheep's clothing. Erik even turned out to be 49, instead of the age he said blah blah it was just disgusting. I didn't understand how men could behave this way. I didn't understand how WOMEN could behave in a way that they relished in flirting with everything that moved in the room and then declare themselves victims at being treated like pieces of meat. Honey, you were looking for it and thanks for making it a hunting ground where quiet people like me that went to relax ended up being e-flashed more times than I care to remember.

So I abandoned Yahoo for a while and stuck to AOL, where they 'sane' people used to hang out. The local chatrooms. I decided to join a Northeastern US Music Chat. People from Pennsylvania, Ohio, NY, MA and NJ mostly gathered to discuss guitar playing, they played on mic, we bashed each other, we loved each other and we were pretty tight knit. None of that e-leg humping crap, just straight up people shootin' the shit discussing their favorite hobby. PM's were always safe, and usually involved either meeting someone close to me in PA for a jam session (and they were, actually, awesome) or safe convos about guitars or musicians.

When (screename witheld) sent me a private message one night, I expected nothing more than a guitar chat and a new friend. His name was Ronnie. He was 21 years old. He was recently divorced with twin daughters that were 3 years old, Hannah and Kelsey. He lived in California. His father owned a large and successful construction company, where he worked and made 'good money'. He never boasted, but he always dropped hints that he wasn't hurting financially. Specially listing his 'gear' to me, which included several guitars that were over $4k each, equally luxurious amps...yeah. We spoke of music, but he seemed a sad fellow who was holding a lot back. He kept repeating how nice I was and that he'd never met a girl who could play Metallica as well as me. He mentioned battling depression briefly, and we both were so consumed talking to each other that we didn't notice the chatroom die away and the clock flying away with our time. That night I didn't sleep at all, and simply showered and caught the bus to school, feeling this void that I couldn't talk to Ronnie until night time.

Weeks passed by and turned into months of almost 24 hour Ronnie company. We never did anything but relish our company, talk of hobbies, talk about his problems, he'd ask me to play my guitar so he could fall asleep. He made me feel like he needed my company, like he needed -me- above all. Eventually phone numbers were exchanged, and the daily calls overtook everything I ever did. He's all I ever spoke about to my friends and parents, I sent packages with gifts for his daughters and the plans began. It was several months later that he whispered "I love you" right before hanging up one night, which only cemented what I already felt for him but had never spoken out loud.

This is where it gets great, wonderful and traumatic. We started planning a life together, giving him my deepest secrets and promises and, at 15 yrs old, giving this man more than anyone ever knew about me. I don't need to go into further detail but you all can take that as you may. I was going to run away from home at the end of the school following school year, when I was 16 and we'd move to Germany where some relatives of his lived (oh stupid stupid Yari). At the same time our 'love' blossomed, his personal life was crumbling. His behavior was increasinly erratic, he had this absolutely unbelievable streak of bad luck and endless rants about committing suicide. Here I was, on the other side of the US, crying hysterically and begging him to not give up, that it would get better. I'd get calls during the week from him saying he had an accident or his house got burglarized. Soon his 'sister' came into the equation, though I never spoke to her on the phone or heard her voice in the background. I did, however, get PM's from her and emails from her saying how Ronnie was getting worse and how I should leave him alone because he was unstable...ha!

One day my parents figured it all out, and as soon as I turned 16 they shipped me off to Puerto Rico for the summer to see if I'd get my head out of my ass. He still called me non stop since I had no computer near by, but things were very rocky. Until the day came when it had been 2 weeks since I had last heard anything from him. I ran to a neighbor's house out of sheer paranoia and checked my emails, to find an email from his 'sister' saying that Ronnie had been in a car accident that left him brain dead. They were going to unplug him in a few days and she was asking me if I wanted to know where to send the flowers. I stumbled away from the screen and don't really remember how I got home. I must've been in bad shape because my aunt called my mom and I just heard her screaming at me to snap out of it from the phone that seemed so far away. My parents said they knew about this but had decided not to tell me because we had been nothing, and that it wasn't good for me to be this upset over 'something silly and someone I had never met'.

But he was real to me, he was everything and now he was gone. I didn't eat for days and can't really remember much but crying on my friend's lap while she looked at me with something in her eyes that was an unknown pity. Like she wasn't saying something. I asked her what was wrong and she simply said "You're so young, I hope this isn't in vain." I felt enraged that she, one of my best friends, did not believe my love was real. Alas, that fool's trust didn't prepare me for the next Ronnie chapter. About 2 months later, I received an email from the dead man himself saying that it had all been a joke. His 'sister' just wanted to see if I had really 'loved him' and had taken the opportunity that he was away on business to make it seem like all that had happened...and I woke up.

Hell hath no fury like a 16 yr old who has been betrayed and broken to the ultimate level by her first love. I didn't answer the email. Instead I inmersed myself into finding out what else he had lied about. Ronnie's real name was Dean. He made the mistake of giving me his real last name and date of birth, to which I did verify his address and that he was married with 3 children. The pictures he had sent me had been of his youngest son who was 21. The girls? His grandaughters. He was 42. He had been married to his wife for a long time according to public records. He's an EMT and now, a pedophile thanks to yours truly. Oh I went there. He had no business screwing a 15 yr old over like he did.

After that I left the chatrooms for years, I never trusted anyone again nor loved that purely. I recently returned to chatrooms only to find the snakepit now knows nothing good...what else was expected? I learned my lesson at 16. I re-learned it in my 20's. But it really doesn't matter what or when I learned it...but that it finally sunk in and I've sealed myself shut in self-preservation.

I don't know why I named this post as Part 1, when I've said all I needed to. I let it out, I carry no further secrets. Most of you knew of Ronnie, but I don't think you knew to what extent. Maybe something else will come to mind that needs to find it's way out into the atmosphere. For now I leave you with this: Open your eyes. Even though nobody will learn a lesson from someone else's mistakes, I wish you don't go through what I did at that age ever. It's never too late to demand the truth. Never, absolutely NEVER, be shocked to find out that there is so little love, compassion and humanity left out there. Don't settle for anything but those 3 qualities, there are no excuses for anything else.

I'm tired. Bed at 10:00 p.m.

Covers

Sometimes I enjoy them more than the original thing...


Also, you should check out mine. Why? Cuz I suck yet still record em in hopes ya'll enjoy em more than the originals?

I can dream.

www.youtube.com/TheMonkeyScrotum

S is for Sunday, and Stuff

I have a red ribbon in my hair,
and my guitar earrings on.
The dog's curled up beside me,
My pink eyeliner's gone.

The week is over. Done.
The holidays ran through.
I scarcely had my fun,
but always thought of you.

I'm kicking these old shoes off,
and finding my best flannel.
Watching movies, yuck, of love
or just the Weather Channel.

~ by Yari I.
(with special collaboration by Blue the Dachshund
and stupid painful romantic comedies on Netflix)

Pink Bullet

During the last 6 weeks of my mom's pregnancy, I decided that her left hip bone would be an awesome place to stuff my head into. It made sense I suppose. It wasn't time for me to come out yet and I was getting tired of just floating around with nowhere to rest my head, so why not shove it in a tiny space?

Turns out that I had missed the memo about baby's heads being soft and pliable. So when my time came to do my grand entrance into the world, it is no surprise (at least to anyone else but me) that my first nick name would be "Gumby". Yes. Gumby, the lovable clay toy with the lopsided slanted head. Oh the horror! My mother was distraught that her otherwise perfect baby (hey I was a good looking baby) had a huge lump on her head exactly the shape of her hip bone.

The doctor consoled my mother saying that in time it should go away, if they rubbed it every day softly (yeah like a freakin' buddha belly) and gently massaged the bump. If that failed (I bet mom's confidence just shot through the roof at that statement), she shouldn't worry because I was a girl and my hair would grow and hide the bump. Seemed sketchy, and, they weren't counting on me being a bald baby the first year of my life. No hair. Thanks, doc.

Eventually the bump went away with the rubbing of the hands all over my head like a freakin' crystal ball. Also, I grew a fine head of hair which now covers other slight imperfections. However, it makes me wonder if maybe that's why Gumby was one of my favorite cartoons growing up. It also makes me wonder if that's why I'm so fond of hats, and I sort of feel exposed without one.

One thing is certain. This story makes for good conversation, maybe even makes me a nice centerpiece for a table. Next time ya'll see me, feel free to touch my head. I know you're already wondering inside your head or at least picturing me walking around a clay farm with Pokey by my side. Besides, I like having my head rubbed. Good times.

Food for thought: Would a pink colored bullet hurt you the same as a regular bullet? Or say an adamantium one? Anyone care to try?

Speed Reading

Also...

I read this book in exactly 24 hours. I had not laughed that much in a long long time. It was great, not at all a self pity book (well the character was full of it but I didn't read it to identify with it, I actually thought the vintage cover was alluring) and the awkward moments were just...I'm speechless.

It did, however, have a horrible ending. I mean the type of ending that makes you want to cry and sob your heart out because it's not the feel good finale you were expecting. It was realism at its best. Real life ending...sad Yari heart.

"Maybe that's why falling in love becomes so important. The hope of it. Because it's the last standing pillar in the temple of thrill."
~Heather McElhatton, "Jennifer Johnson is Sick of being Single"

The Lost Week

One would think that a week without internet would yield a blog post full of anger, frustration and news.

Alas, I have none of those to share with you. I do, however, have some thoughts that have no place to be filed.

You see, I was thinking about self-esteem...self-image...whatever. My sis Cathy wrote about how no matter how thin and beautiful everyone says she is (and she really is), there is nothing about herself she likes. She sees no value, she knows that only her husband calls her beautiful and meant it, and maybe anyone else who ever gave her compliments only did so to get something out of it. I disagree, but that's not why I'm writing.

There is, in fact, something I agree with. You see, it doesn't matter how many times our family says we're beautiful, gorgeous, smart, funny, any positive quality whatsoever...it really sort of doesn't feel believable. I mean, they're your family so it's expected for them to give you biased opinions of you. As far as the husband goes, well yeah you'd kind of also expect him to call you gorgeous and beautiful, it's his job lol. It's not really that one is fishing for compliments or is so insecure about oneself that the need for reassurance is overwhelming. Not at all.

All I'm saying is that, it's nice when someone who has nothing to gain nor the obligation to call you beautiful, gorgeous or any other positive names lets you know that's what he thinks about you. Because, for some unreasonable reason, you take unbiased comments seriously and they boost your day to new heights. I can list here and make a list of thing I hate about myself, and trust, there's plenty. Physically and on the inside too, I'm rather screwed up. What I like about myself? Physically...probably hair and eyes. Boobs are pretty up there on my like list as well. On the inside? I guess I like that I still have that side of me that loves to spoil others, just for the sake of spoiling them. That I still care more than I should, and love more than others deserve. I don't judge others, no matter how outrageous their behavior/crusades/goals, because...well..come on now, who the hell am *I* to judge? I thought so.

So yeah...here's to self confidence Wendesday and all the shitty things we think about ourselves. Like the world doesn't bring us down already, now we give it a little extra help ripping our hearts out and blending them with delicious soy milk and mocha java chips.

"To wish you were someone else, is to waste the person you are."

I can't find

The word for being between 'meh' and at peace with certain things.

What I want for Xmas?
- An Amazon KINDLE
- Lego Minimates
- The Office stuff
- Toe Socks
- Cathy
- Shane
- Sporq
- A heater
- To catch up on my Best Buy bills
- A Harry Potter scarf/wand
- Monopoly City
- An amp for my guitar (Peavy/Marshall preferrably)
- A 12 string Takamine acoustic guitar (a girl can dream)
- Legos in general

Santa promised he was gonna read my blog if I stopped baking my mopey lil heart out and using up enough energy to power a small village in The Patagonia. (yes, they need electricity there in winter i think)

Memories...

So this is where I spent the best part of my Sunday, out in the boonies of West Odessa.

Ricky's mom and dad moved to Odessa, TX about 26 years ago from Ojinaga, MX. They had 13 kids total, and his dad built that house they grew up in with the help of the older kids and mom.

In 1999, Ricky's dad died suddenly. Leaving behind his legacy in photographs, studio recordings of his days as a musician (he was probably one of the best saxophone players around, and many remember him) and that house, his last project.

So when he got the call today, I knew the pain he was going through was more than simply loss of material goods. He asked me to go with him to the site of the fire, and my stomach turned into knots. I'm never any good in tragic situations or catastrophes. I turn into this useless lump that's in the way and has no comforting words. But I stopped myself from saying the immediate "No, I don't think I can deal with the sadness." I stopped myself from doing what comes natural to me in these situations, which is to lock myself in my room and not really talk about what happened. I decided he needed a friend there, and I decided to not be selfish...for this wasn't about how hard it would be on me, but others that were in need.

The ride there was quiet, and my stomach became increasingly upset. It was the mixture of nausea, vomit coming up and GOD I NEED PEPTO I usually get when I'm nervous. I didn't even look at him really, because I knew what he was thinking...and what the rest of the family at the site was thinking. As we turned onto a road that was close to the street we had to take to the house, I just heard a sob...and my heart broke, ached, dried up at the sound. I knew he couldn't hold it together. He was thinking about...

As we finally pulled up into the street where the house was, there were cars and emergency personnel everywhere. Because he was family, we were allowed to park past the barrier and closer to the home. At this point we got out of the car and had that rapid step one has when headed to face the inevitable, you just need to get it done with. I followed quietly, letting him take the scene in. The house was pretty much a total loss. His mom was sitting in a folding chair across the street from her now blackened and dead home. She was okay, so that was a relief. The sister and her kids..and her kids' kids that lived there with his mom were okay too. Another relief. But, as all the siblings greeted each other and hugged with their mom, I knew that I had been right about what they were thinking. They were thinking about...

They weren't thinking about material things. It wasn't that their mom's only dwelling place and everything she owned was gone. She even joked about losing her dentures in the fire, and not having any underwear for later. It wasn't that the sister and her daughter with two kids of her own had nowhere to go at all, and had nothing left either...even diapers for the 1 month old. They joked that at least the Red Cross found them a hotel room and diapers for 3 days. Hell...as poor as all the brothers and sisters are, they were still 12 in total and even by giving a little bit they could at least provide the basic until help came.

As I watched them hug and cry for a long time, it was like watching a family greet each other when a family member has died. You know how it is...everyone's calm and collected until another member of the home gets there and it starts the crying and wailing again. Ricky's little sister was a sight, devastated, 7 months pregnant and just looking at the home that held for her what she loved most. What they all loved most. It was the last gift...living memory of their dad. Their dad had died all over again. The last thing built with his hands, the memories they had as a family there with him...they were all gone.

I just stood aside and felt helpless, because you can't replace the memories. The house will be rebuilt, and everyone will eventually find a place again...but the bricks layed there along with the memories they all had of Dad's laugh and cusses and good moments/bad moments...they were burnt to the ground. Today I witnessed a wife mourn her husband a second time. I saw 10 people ages 23 and up, transform into children with lost eyes and endless tears for a father gone.

I traced my converse on the sand and shifted from feet to feet, uncomfortably aware that when my time came to lose my parents...I'd face it alone. I'd have no siblings to comfort or comfort me, no one to share my memories of the times we spent as a family and I felt angry at my parents for letting me be an only child.

When that time comes...I'd like for ya'll to be there.

Ricky: I'm sorry for your loss, then and now. You're probably thinking that if he were alive, this wouldn't have happened. Maybe. But he'd be damn proud to see all his kids come together and take care of your mom. Whenever you need me, I'm here too.

LINK TO NEWS ABOUT THE FIRE

Emotional Outlet

...in a very long time, I felt like slaying a small village of puppies. I'm not really sad, or down...just angry. I'm frustrated and just...wish I could run (without getting asthma or breaking an ankle) until I have reached the end of the world.

I had weird dreams. I was going to tell ya'll about them but, in my fit of fury for which I had to get a cold shower for, I forgot. I know it involved eating good fried chicken at a department store of sorts, ninjas, holding hands for the first time and feeling my heart burst into a billion pieces of nervousness/happiness, running through tunnels, and feeling his head lean on my shoulder while watching Schlinder's List (great date movie, I know).

I am on a baking/Harry Potter kick still...maybe I'll sneak off to the movies to watch New Moon again (only the second time this time around, which...is remarkable. I watched Twilight like 4 times even as crappy as it was) and then have some Thai Spice.

And because there is no such thing as TMI in Yariland blog...it's that time of the month. So that explains my anger and my back pain and my general tears over stupid things like finding a penny on the floor after cleaning my room. Yeah.

I need a hug. Ya'll know where to find me.

Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.

I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me*.

~ Maya Angelou

*Now sit there and tell me I ain't one ;)

Last Night's Brain Movie...

Oh yeah, so I had another odd dream last night...

I was in the woods walking with my sister, in the middle of nowhere Minnesota I think...We were both wearing the same warm 4 button coats. Hers was bright green (pretty!) and mine was bright purple (bright!), and we had mismatched beanies. Mine was a green beanie the color of her coat, and hers was the purple of mine. I digress, as usual. Right. We were walking in about 2 1/2 feet of snow and more rapidly falling, the cold wind cutting our face. I sort of had my sister tucked under my right arm because she was, well, very pregnant and was getting very tired. She kept getting horrible cramps and falling on her face in the snow, and it sort of broke my heart how hard she kept trying to get up fast so we could get on our way.

It was eerie, though, that the trees around us were in full bloom and their trunks covered in an almost neon green moss. The flowers were a coral color and the petals mixed with the snow on the ground. I could barely hear her telling me she could hear someone calling over the wind howling, but no...I heard him too. His voice rang clear and was panic ridden. He called her name over and over, almost the way one would scream for God in the middle of a hopeless situation. My sister was his salvation. I heard her answer back equally loud, and we could both see him running frantically our direction but he was seemingly blind to our presence.

He was almost 10 yards away and looking straight at us, I almost thought he'd seen us. But no, he kept screaming "I can hear you but I can't see you! Where are you?? Are you okay? Are you alone? Stay put!" I remember feeling somewhat appalled that he'd think I'd let her wander around in this storm in her condition. I sort of huffed under my breath and she smiled at me but I almost saw her sway with the wind gust that hit us. I held on to her and walked to the edge of a clearing...thinking it was the best bet to be found by him...with nothing else around us to block his view. I leaned her against a big tree, and told her to stay put while I tried to make some sort of movement in the clearing so he could see us. She desperately clung to me and said it hurt. I asked what but she didn't answer. I asked again, and she said "He'll find us when the storm dies down. He'll know I won't be far from the house." I saw him move even closer but still, with eyes of a blind man, he looked in our direction only to scream for her louder. "Yeah don't worry about ME. I'M fine...", I mumbled and she giggled as I stepped onto the clearing.

The clearing wasn't a clearing. Soon I heard something crack under my footsteps and everything happened way, way too quick. I felt the cold stab at my lungs and surround me, and everything getting darker. I saw the light of day stream through the hole in the ice and my saw my sister's hand dipping in the water reaching for me. Her screams were muffled, but she kept telling him to hurry that I was sinking. I knew they'd never make it to me and prayed hard that she would slowly move her pregnant ass back to the tree and wait there safely for him. Let me go.

Pretty much I saw the murky water around me, and was watching myself sink. I looked pale and my eyes were open, unblinking...while tiny bubbles escaped my mouth and shot to the surface towards freedom. I looked frozen already and could almost see my body reach the bottom of the lake. Then I sort of went back in my body and just stared at the black around me, the hole in the ice now seemed like a full moon in a dark starless night...But it was almost warm now. It was quiet and I sort of realized this was finally what I had been waiting for. Now it didn't matter what tomorrow would bring, because this was my end. The people I loved would go on, I wouldn't suffer losing them or hurting them.

It was pretty...until I saw the thin white arm shot out of the darkness and grab me by my wrist tight. It pulled me with superhuman speed towards the source of it. But everything remained dark. And it seemed that, even in death, I would get no rest.

Good things, Bad things, Great things

I've been kind of busy with work this week, which is good. It's one thing to learn IT theory and a whole other one to put it to use and help people out. Plus, I was brought on to the team to help with the work load and not use the "I'm new and training still" card for months. At least that's not something I want to be, a burden. But anyways, we're working out of site this week and next and I'm liking it. So, that's good.

Also, I had hoped for a better seven days to come this week. Alas, bad things are afoot. Lots of my friends are going through sad moments and I feel utterly useless. Loss of family, loss of home, loss of a lot of stuff. I wish I could say the right thing, but I end up looking like a fussing hen with a broken record. I don't know when I'm intruding in others business or if they would actually welcome me trying to help in any way. I've been somewhat disappointed, but not really surprised, that a lot of whispering has been done behind my back about my view on certain subjects. All I'm going to say is, I cleared it with who I had to and DON'T want it brought up ever again. Again, I'm sure the involved parties were as mad as I am right now typing this, I would've been too. But this is the LAST time I'm even remotely mentioning this. I better not even have someone bring up this bs again. Bad things, bad move.

Greatly enough, I sold my ATT Bold today after a week and some days of trying. I actually got more than what I was hoping for and tomorrow is payday...so DOUBLE WHAMMY YAY GREATNESS!!! Also, a friend forwarded me something I'm asking Santa to bring me for next year maybe...since it's too much money for me (SANTA) to buy for myself this time around. Click on THISAMAZINGYARIGIFT!!!! and sure put it on a credit card or something...

Now, then, there is a good-bad-great thing that happened about 2 hours ago. Good? I sold the phone and got cash. Bad? I spent most of it at Toys R Us. Great? I got several Minimates sets AND The Half-Blood Prince on DVD.

It's all about balance...and I, Yari, so don't have it. It's okay though. Gonna go shower and finish reading my book.

Zoidberg

Slinky + Zoidberg = Yari's first tattoo. I'm not making sense. It's fine. Good night all.

Dr. Zoidberg: Only 14.99$ for a two-record set. Two records! Ooh Zoidberg at last you are becoming a crafty consumer. I'll take eight.
Newsletter seller: Extra extra! Greatest opera of all times sucks!
Dr. Zoidberg: I'll take eight!

Hell Yeah, I'm Jaded

She told me I was jaded.

And I agreed.

Then we spoke of Bella. Last names and the "Kill Me Now" era.

We're both jaded. But it's okay. Dreams are prophetic. Prophecies are dreams.

We can't all be wrong. Who am I to disagree? Who are you?

My toes are cold. Hugs for thee.

Arrrhem!

I'm changing my name to Cletus.

Oh.

And my friend lost his gramps today. Courage and love to him.

People

They come and go from our life for a reason. The least we can do was learn something valuable about them while they were a part of it.

Family is what we're born into. We didn't really choose it and, hard as we try to deny it, it's all we really have in some instances...unless we pushed them away.

Friends are those we're not really born into, but choose along the way. Sadly, most of them come and go quickly leaving behind a trail of massive headaches and heartbreak. The few that stay in our lives, are willing to overlook our faults and accept us as imperfect beings just like they are. They love us, respect us and don't spend the majority of the time scrutinizing our shortcomings and saying how much better they could do it. They don't demand time from you, not the real ones, because they realize just because you don't talk for a day or two it doesn't mean you're no longer the favorite. They realize that you both need time away from each other, in order to love and miss each other.

I shouldn't have to explain my actions, thoughts or who I choose to love through thick or thin. I shouldn't have to defend it. I shouldn't have to do this...but sometimes you have no other choice other than to trust your heart. And my heart says: "BASTARDO!" Loud and clear.

If it makes no sense to you, shrug it off and hit Alt + F4. Yari. Out.

Why My Hair Rocks

So in catching up with my daily news of the weird, I learned that my being a curly-haired only child has been detrimental to my survival thus far.

Check out the headline I came across:

"WOMAN KILLS SISTER OVER HAIR STRAIGHTERNER"

A 20-year-old Sydney resident, Kathleen Worrall, has been charged with manslaughter after admitting she stabbed her 18-year-old sister, Susan, in the neck after fighting over a pair of hair straighteners.

Turns out Kathleen killed her sister in October of last year after a heated argument over the hair straighteners.

Kathleen was charged later that day and has been in custody ever since.

Today, she pleaded not guilty to murder, but guilty to manslaughter.

For now, Kathleen's hanging out behind bars, without a hair straightener, awaiting her sentence on March 26th."

Um, can I really say anything about this? Bitches lost it over having to share a hair straightener.

Come on guys...curly hair isn't THAT bad...am I right? am I right?

I have a doggy dilemma...

My dog needs a bath, badly.

He's all gray and smells like Doritos (He doesn't eat anything but dog food so why he smells like human snacks? I don't know).

Problem is, he knows the word "bath" in English and Spanish. So nobody can even mention the word "bath" around him or he'll take off running and hide under the bed. I'm not joking, we've tried every approach.

However, I now find myself in a perfect position to just grab him and get him bathed and delicious without so much as a fight. It would be too easy right now...or would it?

This is the dilemma...would you disturb such sweet slumber?:

December 6, 1997

Hey Grandma,

It's me, your 'negra'. I never quite understood why you'd call me that, or maybe I was in denial that you had a sarcastic sense of humor I believed only I possessed in the world. Um, this is my blog *shows you around*. I pretty much write almost everything that comes to my mind, dreams, how I'm feeling, rants...never my fears. You already know why. Blogs are pretty popular these days for a number of reasons, but for me it's mostly a way to purge, I hope you like it.

I've waited 12 years to send you this. I'm hoping by now you've settled down wherever you are and have internet access (don't get mad at me, you know I'm joking). We never saw eye to eye in the whole religious scheme of things, but you were okay with that. You knew I believed in God, just not in men and how they set up religions. You were okay with me not doing the whole birthday/xmas fandango things, and came to even see why and sort of accept it. I, too, accepted that you were a devout catholic and never did or will say anything remotely wrong about that. But that's not why I'm here right now, and I trust you really didn't get offended at my afterlife internet joke.

So, um, it was a Saturday morning at 11:16 a.m. and I had just left your side after spending the night with you. Your breathing was really labored and to be honest, I've always felt like complete shit that I didn't notice you were THERE. You know, dying. It wasn't like we hadn't had a year to prepare for it, but still, it shattered us. You sort of were the back bone of the clan, and everyone seemed to be in order when you were around. But yeah, that morning I slid out of the bed where we both had spent the night, stole a quick glance at your chest to make sure it was still moving and took off to shower.

Fifteen minutes later the cell phone rang and dad answered it quickly. He hung up quietly and mom looked panicked, but he only said: "She's not doing good, we have to back to the house real quick." We sped back home, we'd only been a few blocks away, and ran into your house. Uncle Pachi greeted us at the door and mom nearly stumbled into his arms asking if you were alive still. He simply nodded and she seemed to relax a bit. But he grabbed me by my shoulders and stopped me from following, something I didn't understand until I heard my mom's screams fill the house followed by the cries of the rest of your children. At that point I didn't want to follow and simply let my uncle lead me to his bedroom. We both sat at the edge of his bed, and he covered his face and cried loudly. It was the first time I've seen a man cry. I couldn't cry.

After about 5 minutes, when everything had somewhat quieted down, he told me I could go to the room. I took my time getting there, and the house that once seemed inmense now seemed entirely too small, making me reach that damned room entirely too quick. I stopped at the doorway, and could only see the bed with your body from the waist down under the covers like you were sleeping. I remember who was in the room, where they were standing, what they were wearing and the order they were standing in. I slid in quietly, feeling bad that I couldn't at least throw a fit like everyone else had when they went in there. I looked at you and you looked like you were sleeping peacefully, just like I had left you. Everyone sort of pushed me to the bed to 'say my goodbyes' even though I wasn't ready, so I leaned in and whispered 'bye' not really meaning it and kissing your still warm forehead.

They all started crying again and it became too much for me, specially since I couldn't, for the freakin life of me, cry. They seemed to notice I was mostly in shock, since I was the closest one to you out of your grandkids, and decided that the best use for me was to send me to my aunt's house where your other 6 grandkids were, to tell them of your passing. Great. You wouldn't have let them send me to do that, you knew I couldn't handle bad news very well. Alas, I walked to my aunts house still in the middle of this surreal haze and stood in her living room taking in the scene. My 6 older cousins, all boys, were sitting around the Nintendo playing like our primary caretaker hadn't just left us. Kevin, the youngest of those boys was 15 and his grandmother on his mom's side had just died of cancer too a few months back. He had been heartbroken then...I didn't want to imagine now. Alejandro was the oldest, I think he was 21 at the time, and he loved you almost as much as I did out of all of them. So yeah, I walked in the middle of the room and just stared at them wide-eyed with my chest heaving. I must've been pale because Javi got up from the couch and pulled me to sit where he was and kept asking me if I was okay, if I had fallen down. I just said "Grandma" and looked up at Alejandro shaking my head as if indicating "she didn't make it". He didn't need anymore words. He reached over and turned off the t.v. and Nintendo console in a swift movement and they all took off running to the house. They left me there alone. And I stayed there alone for a little while.

Your funeral was huge, and the flowers were your favorite. Orchids everywhere. You were loved, really loved, and people from all over the place came to pay their respects. You wore that dress you bought for Pachi's wedding, a few months earlier, and when grandpa saw you when they opened the coffin he simply whispered "You look like a bride, Nana". I don't need to keep telling you what else happened, but all you need to know is that I can't forget every detail of those days. That picture of us above? You had cancer there already, according to what doctors told us. What were you thinking every time you held me? You already knew there...you could've stopped it, maybe.

After you died, Pachi's wife left him. You hated her anyways, so it's okay, I think he's better off now with his new wife. After you died, it took us 3 years to go back into your room and start throwing away your things, and they decided I got to keep your favorite pijamas and a few bracelets. When you died, my cousins stopped coming home every weekend or spending time with the family. I didn't have anyone to hang around with and pester anymore. I was 13 when you left, and I haven't slept well since.

I try to explain to people why you mattered so much to me, more than my parents in a way. While they were off working, you took care of me every day. You fed me, taught me manners and became my best friend. You taught me how to cook and how to work the land. How to make fun of people, and improved my sarcasm skills, and yes, you gave me this potty mouth of mine lol. I remember every freckle your hands had, and the tone of your voice. I was old enough to remember every feature of your face and the expressions you made. The taste of your cooking will never be reproduced by anyone. And I'll never forget how you used to ask me if I'd give you 100 kisses, and I'd say no because I loved grandpa more. You'd pretend to me upset at me, but I'd see you smiling when grandpa high fived me. I should've given you all of them. I loved you more.

You weren't there when I broke my leg learning to skateboard, and I was laid up on your bedroom for the whole summer. You would've been nice company. You weren't there when mom got sick, she was your favorite. You would've been crazy with worry when we had to take off to the U.S. when mom was on the edge of death, and would've been pissed the hell off when she recovered but dad decided to keep us in this country instead of going back home where we belonged. You would've been so sad, more than mom, to see dad leave us when I was 17. He was your favorite son-in-law and he spoiled you rotten. I needed you then. It was hard.

You missed the part where mom and I became a superhero tag team, not even needing dad to do everything we had to do to stay alive in a foreign country. I worked and graduated high school (you missed that too), but never did get to go to college (sorry about that, I know you thought I'd go). You missed my first boyfriend, and my wedding. You didn't get to meet your great-grandkids (not from me either, sorry), Hector knocked up his gf back in 99 and Gabriel was your first great-grandkid. You missed so many things, but I think we all missed you more.

Dad's back, by the way, and he's trying his best to reverse the damage he did those years he was gone. I wish I could tell you I've become everything you thought I'd be by now, but I haven't got much to show for myself. I've tried to never do wrong to anyone and to make an honest living. I am, however, hard working and loving. I try to take care of mom and dad the best I can, and even though I'm sick now, I'm trying to take care of myself too. I have a new job, and I'm hoping I can become a person of good in it too. I play guitar now and read a lot, just like mom used to and you made fun of her.

I guess it's taken me 12 years to tell you this: I've cried. It took me years but I got to the point where I could mourn you and accept you were gone. I'm sorry I didn't show any emotion when you were sick. I'm sorry I didn't cry when you died or the first years the followed. I'm sorry I'm no longer the Yari you raised and loved. She's in there somewhere, but rarely comes out. I try to not be sad. I try to not resent dad. I try to not do a lot of things. But I no longer hold my tears for you. I've cried for all those things I couldn't before.

And fuck, do I miss you.

One More Thing...Hey Scott:

Lookie! 2 more months!...One of my favorite movies coming back to meeee weee!!!

12!

And because I refuse to let every post this week be such a freakin' downer...let's all enjoy some numbers!

Shout out to muh homie thesporq for reminding me of this the other day!

Happy Little Flowers

Ever since I moved into my parents' house, I've been trying my best to see the positive side of the situation. They're helping me out in this time of economic hardship, not because I asked, but because I'm the only child of a set of parents that love their daughter more than life...and need her as much as she needs them.

It hasn't been smooth sailing, despite the good intentions from both sides. I'm used to having my own place, doing what I please, when I want to do it. They interpret my lack of going out of my room much, being quiet during dinner and vacant stare as a sign that I may be falling into the depression I had when I was 15-16 yrs old. That wasn't an easy time for any of us, but I am sometimes grateful they didn't ship me off to a looney bin when I became so withdrawn into myself...not really caring if I was alive or dead.

I understand where they are coming from now, they know that I'm older and have been through more things than I had back then. In a sense, I am an adult now and they can't watch what I do 24/7...leaving windows for me to do something stupid. Don't worry, I won't. But their constant company is driving me mad. They have no understanding of what personal space means to me. Something as simple as sitting down on the couch to work on my book becomes a point for terrible arguments. I sit in the living room so I'm not cooped up in my room, but I do this when they are in their room. I want to be alone, and think about what I'm writing without the constant: "What are you writing? Are you chatting? Who're you chatting with?" and their turning the t.v. on loudly and talking to me like I'm not in the middle of something.

So, that being said, today they went out to do an odd job and I have the house all to myself...well and my dog. He's a good lil pup, I adore him. I decided to try baking a recipe a friend of mine Rob had given me for cranberry ricotta cornbread. I had all the ingredients (including fresh! cranberries), I had no distractions and I had Pandora running in the background. I grabbed solitude by the horns and got cooking...or baking so to speak. The kitchen has a window right by the stove, that let's you look out as your mixing the ingredients. That's what *I* used it for anyways. The music kept getting progressively sadder, or maybe it was me.

By the time I put both pans in the oven and washed the dishes, Rosie Thomas' "Farewell" came on the laptop and almost felt my chest split open. I looked at my mom's favorite chair and saw all her bright flower plants in their equeally happy looking pots surrounding it. She brought them inside due to the snow...and now they liven that corner so much, making it look like a neon garden of bright white and hot pink geraniums. It makes it feel homely.

The song kept blaring, the words sadder...the piano echoing. I looked over at the corner of the sofa and saw my dog looking pretty much how I felt. Curled up in a ball, taking up a little corner of that big piece of furniture, looking up at me with no desire to even wag his tail. Just then, I felt the music disappear and the silence fill the house that now seemed too big and barren. Death Cab For Cutie came up next on the playlist...

The world has never seemed bigger and emptier.

And those happy little flowers have never seemed more inappropriate.

I never asked you for
A sailboat in the yard
Or that fancy dress to wear
Or a ceiling made of stars
And all I got was just this
Broken heart from you.

- Rosie Thomas "Farewell"

CoIndependantly Happy

We all sit here, claiming to be free thinkers and self sufficient. All of us, at some point, have said our happiness does not depend from another person in our life doing this or that.

On the other hand, some of us do have this need or feeling of attachment that doesn't allow us to even smile throughout the day unless the other person makes an appearance.

Which side is right? Which is wrong? Both are unhealthy I suppose.

No man is an island, it was once said. We all need of others at one point or another, even when we fancy ourselves utterly capable of handling any hurdle that comes our way with a "Puh! Who needs them anyways?!" attitude. Sure you can push everyone away, and claim to be an autonomous soul...but no one can survive the loneliness that eventually touches us all at some point in life.

On the other hand, are we really that insecure that we need other people's constant praise and attention in order to feel like we're someone? Does it drive us to be someone we are not just to seek their approval? Sometimes those people can't even crack a smile or feel lucky about anything at ALL in their life (even though they have a lot more than they think they do) unless they talk to hat person they feel dependent on. How will you ever become your own person if all your decisions and moods are affected by just one person? How will you survive, if/when they leave you, if they were every aspect of your life?

I think it's a little bit of both. A nice little balance in between them. I will not sit here and deny that sometimes, I'm feeling low and I think about someone or miss them a little more than I should. It almost seems like the day is not complete until I hear from them, even if it's a short hello. It makes my mood soar and I find myself smiling while staring off into nothingness. At the same time, I will not deny, that I do not like feeling smothered or like I have to spend ALL my time with them. We all need moments of solitude, moments to think to ourselves and make the best decisions for us. It is unreasonable to think we need to be joined at the hip for everything, being in each others faces and personal space sucking the joy out of a balanced relationship.

This applies to both romantic relationships AND friendships. I'm just trying to say...I miss you during the day sometimes, but I refuse to make that the reason for my unhappiness. I'm just trying to say...I love receiving messages during the day that show me I'm in ya'lls thoughts, but I refuse to make myself accustomed to those and consider them a daily expectation.

But what I'm really trying to say is...sure I might like to lounge around and cuddle up watching a movie; but when it's time to sleep, you better stop hoggin my goddamn pillow and stealing my damned blanket.

"You have no control over what the other guy does. You only have control over what you do."

THIS...IS....SEXYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!

I'm curled up on the couch watching 300, and I texted my friend Scott to inform him I was oogling Gerry on the screen.

He says: "You DO know Gerry is in Watchmen: Ultimate Edition...as a voice over an animated sequence."

I said: "He can voice over MY animated sequence ANY day." Followed by:"...How the fuck did I turn your sentence into something dirty?"

He says: "How? By being you, by being Yari."

Well played, sir.

Hai There ^_^

Happy Friday, people of blog.

It was a long day at work. I'm still broke, so it's not like I can say "At least I'll go watch a movie tomorrow, or have pecan pancakes Sunday night."

My bedroom is about 9' x 10'. The heater doesn't work well, so I'm cold. My weekend will consist of a Harry Potter/LOTR/book reading marathon. I wish I at least had like $10 bucks to buy ingredients to bake carrot cake and a few batches of cookies. I think I have stuff to pawn...maybe I'll find something to take to the pawn shop tomorrow.

Part of me wants to say a lot more, and some other warped part of me wants to go back to being online all the time like I used to. But I've done so good so far, and it looks like maybe I have a new friend in town. So I'm really, really happy about that lil bit.

I really want Hermoine's wand and Arwen's necklace. If that makes no sense, I apologize. If it does and you're still rolling your eyes...bite me.

"People ask me 'If you're not on a diet, why do you drink diet soda?' and I tell 'em 'so I can eat regular cake!' *giggle*" ~ Gabriel Iglesias

Current Favorite Song

I'm learning to play this...it's heart-breaking and I'll be damned if it's not what I wish I could say sometimes. I'll do a cover this weekend probably.

P.S. Swine-flu vaccine makes Yari's arm hurt. Must take warm bath and cry it out. It's bound to get better.

"The Animals Were Gone"

Woke up and for the first time the animals were gone
It's left this house empty now, not sure if I belong
Yesterday you asked me to write you a pleasant song
I'll do my best now, but you've been gone for so long

The window's open now and the winter settles in
We'll call it Christmas when the adverts begin
I love your depression and I love your double chin
I love 'most everything that you bring to this offering

Oh I know that I left you in places of despair
Oh I know that I love you, so please throw down your hair
At night I trip without you, and hope I don't wake up
'Cause waking up without you is like drinking from an empty cup

Woke up and for the first time the animals were gone
Our clocks are ticking now so before our time is gone
We could get a house and some boxes on the lawn
We could make babies and accidental songs

I know I've been a liar and I know I've been a fool
I hope we didn't break yet, but I'm glad we broke the rules
My cave is deep now, yet your light is shining through
I cover my eyes, still all I see is you

Oh I know that I left you in places of despair
Oh I know that I love you, so please throw down your hair
At night I trip without you, and hope I don't wake up
'Cause waking up without you is like drinking from an empty cup.

-Damien Rice

Old Faithful...ha.

I started out small, insignificant, surrounded by elders and predecessors. A tiny seed holding the posibility of a new beginning in every tiny root that outstretched from my rapidly growing trunk.

I reached for the sun above me, fighting for it's rays and nourishment. I saw my brothers rise and fall at my side, and still I kept my pace. Up! Up...deeper into the ground, planting myself for eternity.

Finally strong enough, tall enough to provide a safe haven for lonely birds and hungry little squirrels. I don't mind them much, their incessant rattling and chirping keeps me amused. I didn't notice how lonely I was.

The breeze would play through my swaying limbs, uniting my sound to the choir erupting around me during cool autumn afternoons. Soon my leaves would fall, and I'd face the winter in a naked slumber...seemingly dead. But, it wasn't sad, it was part of my life. In May I'd spring alive again.

I heard your footsteps approaching, though, right before my yearly death. I had no leaves left, my trunk was gray...white...discolored much like the rest around me. You did not look up, much to my dismay, but I imagined a lovely face.

I grew preoccupied when the sound of your rage-filled sobs, and saw you lean tired against me. My branches could not lean down and hold you up, though every fiber in my being ached to do so. I simply watched.

Hours passed, and you calmed down. You spoke in words I didn't understand, it was not the sound of birds, or leaves...human language I had not learned, I had so little of those visitors. Then the pain hit cut into me.

Why were you stabbing into me with your pocket knife? I screamed the only way I knew how, dropping a few leaves on your head...tumbling in the wind. You looked up sadly, then leaned your forehead on my trunk. Whispering a name, you looked up a final time as if taking a picture of this place, of me to take with you.

I watched you walk away, with a slow confused step, hands in your pocket and head towards the ground. When you were out of sight, I felt a stinging where you cut - and searched myself for the new scar you left. Your initials cut deeply into me. Did I belong to you now? Would you come visit again? Sleep took over.

My wooden heart leaped when, in middle of my rebirth and bloom, I heard steps near my corner of the world. I set forth my best fruit, my most colorful flowers and waited. Yes, it was you...whistling, hands in your pocket but smile on that face I remembered as if it had been with me for the past several months.

You found me quickly, and looked up smiling as you traced those soft fingertips through the wound left months ago. You sat down and rested carefree in my shadow, while I gave you my company, my love. You came every day.

Summer, Fall, Winter...a year of your company, even in the cold. Some days you were happy and musical, others pensive and somewhat angry. I always noticed the far gaze you had, when you saw the letters carved in me. Did the letters mean memories? Did I hold sadness in them?

You came by with someone the next Spring. It took me by surprise, because I had been preparing for you and once again wearing my best...but she was beautiful. You were beaming, with an ethereal peace in your eyes and your hand holding hers. Pointing at me.

She paid little mind to me, and seemed almost uncomfortable sitting on my lap. Over the same roots you had found a home to during your darkest hours, you laid her and covered her with kisses. Her. She could hold you. I couldn't.

The sun was coming down solemnly, casting it's orange glow over my sadness. You both got up after making me witness the type of love given in secret, between two souls...not three. I decided to not watch you walk away, but nearly felt myself topple with a familiar sting hit my side, right under your scar.

Sure enough, she carved - and you helped - letter of her own, right under yours and embraced them with a misshapen heart. How could you let her? I belonged to you, not her. But you shrugged your jacket off, and laid it over her shoulders, casting a proud look at your work before disappearing into the woods.

I have been eternal, unchanging, dead and alive. I've nurtured and fed the weak. I've protected those who seek refuge in me from the horrors of this world...the kinds they face with nothing to soften the blow. You found and claimed me at my weakest. Or perhaps it was I who saved you at yours.

But it took you a few seasons, to heal from your wound. To face the world, and walk towards your happiness again.

I'll survive storms, snow and predators. I'll make it through floods and maybe even a blazing inferno. I will, most likely, outlive you. Time will not erase my wounds. I will face my world too, but unable to walk towards a new beginning.

My roots are firmly embedded in the ground. I will not change...

...nor will your mark fade.

Steven Seagal

...is in my t.v.

I'm terrified. He'll pull you over. Ask for your license and registration and then KNOCK your ass out.

Also, he'll break your arm. That's just normal procedure.

There's a fungus among us.

Again, dammit.

I always find myself here, repeating my dad's history.

My dad never knew how to manage money, and always spent more than he KNEW he had just to make others happy. To feel like he busted his ass in a full time job, and had something to show for it.

The mistake was that he was often overdrawn, and continuously declaring himself bankrupt. Mostly credit card debts, some small loans. Small amounts of money to survive from one paycheck to the other.

I am him. Trying hard not to be, but I am my father's daughter. I don't spend large amounts of money on petty things...not often. Most of it I spend it taking my family out to eat every now and then, in books, and little things here and there. The problem is I pay my bills and forgot I paid them, and I rarely RARELY keep track on my checkbook of what my actual bank balance is.

In the past 2 months, I've gone from owning 5 guitars, to my last two. An acoustic and an electric. I'm down to the bare essentials. One of each. One for my lessons (electric) and one for practicing (acoustic). I don't want to have to sell my acoustic guitar, my baby, for a fraction of what it cost (like the $1200 limited edition acoustic Martin I sold for $300 last month) because I have no money for gas until payday. Gas and food. There's not even milk here to snarf some cereal. And yet...

Selling my Ibanez and my ATT Bold currently, for not even near what they usually go for. I'm writing so I won't cry. But it's no use. I'm a loser like my dad was before he learned his lesson. So I guess I'll cry for a while, then read the $15 book that probably sent me overdraft initially. So I'll cry while I read it.

I fucking loathe myself.