Santa's Little Drinker

She lays there half frozen, wanting to pee badly. She knows she's supposed to get inside the house, its already well over 3 a.m. adn the temperature is dropping rapidly...certainly not helping with her bladder dilemma. But the grass feels cool against her back, and after a while - if you really really think about something else - you don't really feel that cold. Why go back inside to that warm, quiet, lonely living room full of empty memories? She sighs, defeated. She admits to herlse fthat once again she is drunk off her ass and probably making the neighbors wonder if she's really all there. For all she knows she's probably laying on a frozen chunk of dog shit. But, who cares? There's still a few more beers to be had...

So the mind wanders off, in a drunken haze, with eyelids that struggle to keep open and a stomach seconda way from emptying itself at the slightest head movement. She has to stay very still...fight the nausea, fight the sleep. Her eyes suddenly focus, as best they can at this point, on a single star up in the expansion above. She hears her own voice in a distant memory, a happier night..."You see that purple star right there, close to Orion's belt? It's called Rigel, that's my star." Her breath chokes up as the words echo in her head, and she knows she can't let ONE tear fall out of her eye. Once she starts there's no stopping the crying until she is spent...draped over the lawn chair next to her, hiccuping and sobbing.

She looks away from the star, chest heaving and decides to start humming to keep her mind busy off him...and having to pee. She wiggles her toes to make sure she's still alive. Ok, ten toes, stiff ankles, she's good. She wonders what god must be thinking of this creature laying on the lawn at 3 a.m. humming Perry Como...with empty bottles wrapping around her like a glass cradle, wiggling her toes and crying over a star in the sky. He's probably barking out orders up there "Could someone please, just PLEASE go down there and take care of it? She's gonna wake up the neighbors and they're gonna start using my name in vain...and she's gonna end up responsible for her sins and everyone else that's around her". Ha! There's probably a group of angels standing around the eternal life water cooler, shaking their heads saying "Sheesh! What is that now, the third time this week alone?!" "Oh I know! I went down there last time, and UGH! she was such a mess...always having to pee and such" "You guys wanna go grab some last supper after we put her to bed?"

She shakes with laughter, rocking sloppily and curling up on the ground. God's personal headache she was. She keeps laughing imagining random conversations in heaven and hell about her...placing bets, making room for her soul. Her uncontrollable laughter gets more violent, and crawling up her chest ...here it comes...a sob. She remembers now, she's always had that problem even as a little kid. She would laugh so hard and the laughter would turn into crying for no reason at all sometimes. But now she was all grown up and she had plenty reasons. Sob, spit, vomi...if her grandmother could see her now. She slurrs a whisper into the night "I'm so sorry"...to anyone, everyone out there. She's sorry for breaking promises, and for not being stronger and for drinking. God...she's so sorry for drinking. She's gonna go back inside.

It's almost time to go to work...gotta be normal for work. She takes one last look at her star, which has moved further down the night sky. She knows he will remember her each time he sees that star, she's sure of it. Now!...to pee. She sluggishly drags herself up the stairs, to the dreaded empty nest. Her voice trails off in the middle of the darkness around her...she's singing about catching a falling star. Weird girl.

A letter for you, some Ambien for me

I read it, fold it and put it away.
I drag it back out and skim it again
Feeling myself wonder astray...
My tears stain it lightly, I miss you, my friend.

Gently, I pull that piece of string
Snugly wrapped around my finger
I feel my heart stare down and cringe
my breath hikes up, as your scent lingers.

This last memento I had left
An old, discarded, promise ring
Symbol of when my life had met
The one who made my dead soul sing.

Sitting, staring blankly at the fire
My silence is broken by a sob, a plight
I clutch my chest, curl into me tighter
Peaceful sleep will not show tonight.

-Yari 2009

So Much, So Little...

I took a risk and smiled for you,
No net, no holding back
You taunted me and slashed my face
with harsh words that you spat.

I removed the hood that shadows
the fear within my eyes
Only then it dawned on me
You were the one disguised.

Beneath your eyes my walls came down
To please you, to make you smile.
My inner most desires exposed
In such a little while.

So take these silent heartbeats
Leave them in the past
I never said "forever",
I just asked for a "perhaps".

Yari 2009

Itsy Bitsy Turkey Leg

Behold the silly spider
That thought it was a fly,
She laid herself upon a web...
waited patiently to die.

All the other tiny bugs
stared in disbelief
As she sank herself stupidly
in irony and grief.

Patiently she waited
amidst dew and debris
death did not notice
her wiggling helplessly.

Foolish little spider
with dreams of wings and dread
now snuggled up to flytrap paper
wishing you were dead.

All your little spider friends
are sad to see you so.
They web for you nervously
get well wishes, pretty bows.

Behold the schizophrenic fly
who thought it was a spider.
it also thought it was a dog,
a pencil...a bull fighter?!

-Yari 2009

Old Rant I Found on my Facebook...still partially true :)

(Author's Note: This was written during a time where my mental stability was questionable...ok so I'm still questionable but I did snap out of that funk. Thank you to those who were there and truly helped me.)

Music has a way to unleash the darkest demons you struggle to get rid off your whole life. Every second your life passes away, every second is also a new beginning. would it be really that bad to start over? why are we afraid...ahh yess...hurting the ones we love by daring to be happy ourselves. is it fair to them to feel like they are not important in our life? Does that sound loving at all? So there you are...at the crossroads of 'what if' and 'cant do it, I wont hurt anyone else'...life is never easy. The right choices aren't either.

Music can literally wrap itself around your heart and leave you breathless...it's a surefire way to reopen old wounds that should have been left in the past. Songs will make you see a hauntin face every time you close your eyes. A face that left you broken in the past, yet...a face you forgave the instant they hurt you. Why do we keep listening to sad songs when you are already sad? Masochism? That has to be it. I could very well put happy music or some heavy metal so I can let it all just...anger me. I rather live filled with anger, than filled with the heartbroken sadness I cant shake off sometimes.

There's people out there that call themselves my friends. People who went through hardship and tough moments themselves...and who was there at all hours of the night making them feel better and telling them it would be ok? ME. I was there...for you. Yet, these are the same people that are gonna read this and say, "wtf yari you have no reason to be depressed! Think of all the things you do have and people have it worse blah blah blah!".

To you people...think about the darkest, most violent...sad moment in your life. A moment where there was no hope, no desire to see what tomorrow will bring. You didn't care if you ate, slept, worked...you just didn't care. No matter how much you tried to be happy and pretend to be normal for the sake of your loved ones...your smile never reached your eyes. Your laugh was empty. Remember when you were going through that? Would the words "suck it up. Life isnt fair, focus on the positive" have snapped you right out of it and suddenly make you feel fantastic? Bunch of hypocrites some of you are. I spent countless time providing you what you needed more...which was company that would listen in silence, someone that wouldn't chastize you for your feelings. All you needed was someone to vent to, someone to hug you without any words...and you DARE make me feel guilty about this moment in my life cuz I'm feeling a little sad?! How. Dare. You.

My chest is burning...did someone just punch my stomach? Why can't I take a deep breath without my eyes watering and me starting to cry? Why does food taste so bad? Why do I just want to lay down and sleep till i get sick of laying down? Oh thats right...I can't. To those "friends" that would mean I've been defeated right? Well how nice of you to give onto others what was once given to you...time, love, patience.

"Stand up, we shall not be moved. Except for a child with no socks or shoes. If you have more to give you have more to lose..." - Flobots

"Is Your Dance Card Full?"

She had spent another night awake, thinking of ideals and goals that seemed further away with each second that passed. Tonight, she was in a music kick. It never ceased to amaze her how happy or sad, how angry or hopeful a song could make her. It could unlock deep emotions, or brush away a bad day…just by clicking play. But tonight…oh tonight…she was lost in the dream world of romantic Sinatra songs, drowning in Como’s velvet voice swirling around her mind.

So there in the dark, her mind ran several scenarios in her head. She resented the fact that, as cliché as it sounds, her life had never been a fairytale. It wasn’t really that she was expecting it to be in the first place, but she was tired of hearing countless stories from her friends and even strangers, about intense first dates…flowers…dancing in some dark corner like they had been the only two humans in the universe. Life is not scripted, but it seemed everyone had at least one perfect moment…where everything aligned to make it a magical few seconds. A brief moment that revived the hope once had in love and soul mates, where all fear and insecurities were safely hidden away.

So as her player jumped from Sinatra’s “The Way You Look Tonight”…to Al Martino’s “Spanish Eyes”, she felt this overwhelming urge deep in her chest-where love often lies dormant-to be in a pier somewhere. She could almost feel the ocean breeze hitting her in the middle of a moonlit night, tiny string lights decorating the patio of a seaside restaurant. The old tunes playing in the background softly against the rhythm of the waves crashing. She was wearing a simple, red, shoulders and collarbone mostly exposed…flowing knee length chiffon dress. Her eyes were almost looking down at herself from somewhere in the sky, seeing her slow dancing in those amazing high heels she never wears…her hair pulled up with just a few loose curls bouncing down the side of her face and down the back of her neck. Her makeup was fully done, softly accentuating her big dark eyes that she knew he loved…ah, he.

He had no face, no name, nobody she could match up to this dream. His face was nuzzled on her neck, softly tracing her collarbone and shoulder with his lips…not in lust, but as you would kiss something fragile, breakable. Dancing so close to her, whispering in her ear, both quietly laughing…at what, who cared. She looked happy, he look dazzled…he had no eyes for anything but her. He had gone to great lengths to make this night perfect it seemed, yet it was not pressured, not uncomfortable. She wanted him to have fun too, it was just a date. A random date, not filled with nervous expectations nor plans of eternal love. He slowly caressed her low back and traced his hand back up between her shoulder blade, as if memorizing every detail.

So, they danced, foreheads touching…faces brushing. It was the feeling not often found with someone, where you can’t be close enough…you almost feel like merging the souls together for a few breaths. You are so in tune with each other, you need no words to fill the silence. It was just a few hours, of being the only woman in the world to him. Just a few hours of feeling like she mattered, like someone valued her enough to realize what her dream date was and put it together. For all she cared…now that Perry Como’s “Catch A Falling Star” came on…the vision could transform to just walking around to a joint to have burgers and beer. They could be wearing jeans-dancing to the song down the sidewalk, just being silly. A few seconds of that smile she rarely saw on her face, a few moments for her eyes to sparkle like she was alive.

Just a friend even. Just a date. Not too much to ask, but to her, something so simple never came. Maybe she’ll put on her headphones and whenever she’s hanging out with her friends…she’ll grab someone and make it happen, in a random living room…in a backyard…in the kitchen while making dinner. Just one dance. Just another hopeless romantic fool.

laaadadeeee daaaaah

Years wasted, standing naked in your shadow
Feeding off the crumbs of love you dropped along the way
Weeks, months...years of silence and hateful glares
Yet, I sit here and wonder still if I should stay.


Only blood and bruises now exist
on the places that long ago your kisses covered
Today I pack my heart, and a faded proof of bliss
that picture of us, my tears have devoured.

I scratch my nails down the hallway door
Can't even remember how that felt down your back.
My fingers are smudging in blood and gore
the same corner of the photo, where you yesterday spat.

My question is this: Have you ever cared?
Am I your walking pussy? Your whore? Your maid?
Can you stare at something besides my tits?
How about this swollen cheek? The black eye you gave?

The bruises, in time, will fade.
My heart, now senseless, will grow back and cold.
You will bitterly weep, and wish I had stayed
In some dark corner, when you're gray and old.

(unfinished work...maybe someday ill fix and finish)

Today

TODAY

Today I face the day again.
Tossing on an empty bed that smells of you…
I can almost feel your hand on my face
Open my eyes, loneliness…
sirens blasting through the morning stillness.

Reluctantly my feet push me out of bed.
Who would want to face a day like this?
Sun shining through the window,
Not a cloud in the sky…torture.

Looking at my face in the mirror.
Suddenly the eyes seem older…
Let’s practice the smile I’m using today,
Looking down at the sink…your toothbrush is still here.

Head down the street pretending to have somewhere to go.
The park? Perhaps movies today…no, home. My bed. Alone.
I pick up a flower and give it to the sadness inside me.
Drinking the warm coffee, from your favorite stop, I break my heart.

Work…I guess I’ll show up. Not like money matters anymore.
Your name is slowly scribbled on a blank corner of some paper,
I’ll try it in red ink; it makes it look happier…or less pointless…
Call for me on line 3? It’s not you? Send it to my voicemail then.

Driving back home our song’s playing on the radio, of course.
Turn off the radio; I don’t need to hear that. Do I?
I hate to think of your smile when I said something silly…
Or how your hair looked after a shower.

Walking up to my apartment, I look at my watch.
You’d be getting home just about now too...
Today. Today was just like yesterday and tomorrow.
Thinking of your voice, a lot of talking to myself.

Do I need to think of the way you sat on the couch…
Or how soft your skin felt after you shaved.
I’m going back to bed.
Turning off all the lights…and my mind.
Today…Tonight…I miss you.

Poem by Yari...or maybe a rant, from 2007.

Raindrops Keep Falling On My Squid

Her ears became aware of the pattern left by the falling raindrops surrounding her. Groggily, she semi opened her eyes at this relaxing sound and found herself blissfully confused. Was she sleeping at the bottom of the ocean? A school of fish flew by her left side, leaving a trail of bright tropical colors…almost like shooting stars playing hide and seek in a bed of corals. The rain crashed harder somewhere in the middle of this dream, so she reaches to her side and stumbles across a soft, warm hand that instinctively intertwines it’s fingers with hers. The fit was perfect, delicate and brought a feeling of home to this strange, dry sea.

She brushes her thumb softly across the back of this hand, thinking as she looks at the pictures of manatees on the clock above her head – “I’m in bed with a mermaid princess”. Giggling at herself for not just opening her eyes all the way and ending this silly dream, she tugs the hand closer to her chest and kisses it…listening to her soft breathing and trying to match her own to it. Her eyes lazily scan the dream ocean around her, staring at the dolphin picture on the wall and smiling back at it. Dolphins always look like they’re smiling at you, they’re like the motivational speakers of the sea…positive, hyper, encouraging and seemingly free. Not as free as those whales on the shelf looked.

Figurines danced around her vision creating a spectrum that would make a Lassen painting green with envy. The sound of the rain lulled her to sleep, but she is resisting. She swears she sees the whales flying up above her and crashing back into the water just beyond her feet. Her own head lay on the back of a giant sea turtle with sad eyes, she didn’t want to look into them…they were too familiar. Sad brown eyes. She grips her mermaid’s hand tightly, as the feeling of dread becomes more real. The flowing, wavy stingray that was keeping her warm is suddenly very heavy on her, pushing her chest tight and slowing her breathing.

She kicks a bit, trying to free herself as something catches her attention out of the corner of her eyes. Dizzy, sweaty…she focuses her eyes on the single object as she loses attention and stops hearing the waves crashing, the whales singing, fish happily splashing…all leaves her. She stares quietly at it, reaches over, and takes a few last gulps out of her beer bottle. Just a second ago this pillow was a sea turtle with broken eyes, and her comforter had been a beautiful stingray…the school of fish was now merely a night lamp meant to relax her. The rain is now drowning her quiet sobs, since her dream has vanished and memories of the night have resurfaced to taunt her once again.

She quietly prays to anything out there that might help ease her pain and erase memories of dreams that were buried with certain finality. There had been no smiling dolphins earlier in the night encouraging her along, and she cries remembering whose eyes the turtle’s looked like. All hope was gone now, and what once she held dear she had kissed good-bye. Only one thing had survived her waking up in the real world again. She grips the hand tightly, and amidst the chaos and desolation…she feels connected to something greater than love and loss, than dreams and drunkards. Her mermaid was there still, her angel, her other half. She slides close and kisses her sleeping doll’s forehead and whispers “I love you”, and her eyes dance full of hope as she sees a grin spread across her beloved’s face.

She pulled the stingray over both of them…fluffed the turtle under their heads…and hummed her a lullaby to the rhythm of torrential rain. The things we see, under the sea.

"A plaintive melody, Truncated symphony, An ocean’s garbled vomit on the shore,Los Angeles, I’m yours." - The Decemberists

Undead Apes

I'm sitting here like a dork before going to bed, my body very exhausted but my mind as usual running running like a little hamster in a squeaky wheel. I'm watching a documentary on Animal Planet on tarantulas, and I really shouldn't as I tend to dream about the last thing I see at night.

Last night was horrible, it took me a bit to fall asleep...and when I finally did the most realistic never-ending nightmare ensued. Before I tell you about my nightmare, I must share with you that they're showing the doctor on t.v. that's gonna talk about tarantulas, and for some reason he's in the middle of a desert landscape in full karate gear doing strange moves for a rather obese fella. What that has to do with tarantulas remains to be seen, I'll let you know.

Anyways, my dream started rather normal with me sailing on a Spanish 15th century boat...and I was a captain. I was just shouting orders and telling people which side of the boat was which and how to set sail and the sea around us was just a beautiful shade of teal with little white foam tips shining as far as the eye could see. So here I am, captain of my own boat, pulling into a sort of port where Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes are waiting for me with their new baby in their arms. They wanted to see the boats and needed someone to watch their new baby boy, who I should mention, as I got close turned out to be a baby orangutan in a onesie. A pale yellow onesie. Yes, this is a normal dream to me, whenever I'm not having the recurring wolves nightmare I usually have.

Right, so as I'm rocking this baby monkey Cruise-Holmes in my arms and trying to make it fall asleep...I'm suddenly walking in a hospital hallway and everything has vanished from my previous peaceful dream.Now I find myself seeing everyone from patients to doctors to visitors running in a panic around me, past me...away from me. While this happens, I hear a low groan...correction..groans and scuffling behind me, and panic takes a hold of me. I look behind me and zombies that were a mix between the movie 28 Days Later and Resident Evil are swarming the hospital. I start running after the crowd, apparently everywhere we chose to hide was already crawling with the undead and slowly the crowd of normal humans, such as myself (hey i was normal in this dream, gimme a break), keep dropping like flies. I run out the staircase, and make it to the next floor down before realizing they're already flooding the rooms below me and almost catch me on the stairs.

Bad move Yari, should've stayed in the floor you were...there's even less regular people on this floor and scores of flesh eaters running all over the place. This is the point of the dream where I realize this is a damn dream, and I'm trying to change the outcome...failing miserably. Why won't I wake up? I run into a men's restroom and there's a zombie coming out of the stall (his pants were up and he had flushed thankfully) and trying to grab me. I kick the door in and he falls back inside the stall at which point it magically locks behind him. He's kicking and banging in there and I say to myself "I better get out of here, all this ruckus is gonna alert the rest of them that I'm in here." So I run out and realize they're closing in around the restrooms so I run into the female restroom and check, double check, TRIPLE check under the stalls to make sure I'm alone. I see no feet, I'm safe. I quietly lock the door behind me and I hear a scuffle, I look down again and this time I see a pair of feet peeking from the middle stall and I'm too late to keep the little old lady trapped in there. This is horrible.

I KNOW I'm dreaming yet coming at me is a once sweet 80'ish yr old lady with half her face apparently decayed and blown off. Even in the dream I feel like crap about what I'm about to do. I kick her in the chest for her to fall on her back and I stomp on her neck and face feeling her crush under me. I just killed an old lady...well an undead old lady. When is this stopping!!!?? I already know I'm dreaming dammit when am I waking up? I don't know why at this point I decide to run out of the stall, out of sheer panic I guess. But yeah, bad move again, now there's about 6 of them surrounding me and they overpower me. Wake up. Wake up. Aren't you supposed to wake up at this point? I feel their mouths starting to tear me apart, ripping my fingers, biting into my neck and shoulder...sheer pain...my heart beating out of my throat more afraid than I've ever been.

I still don't wake up. One of them tears my ankle off, pain pain pain burning...gurgling as the other one bites into my throat and takes a chunk off. There goes another finger. So much blood, so many teeth. Last thing I remember doing is clutching my cell phone so hard in the remaining hand that it starts beeping and ringing and they are taken aback long enough for the 'men in white space suits' and the army dudes to blast em off me. I feel the good guys gently put me on a stretcher...I'm in so much pain...my breath full of gargled blood. Why have I not woken up, this is a dream. I feel them stick a needle in my arm and put an IV on. Some doctor looks at me and says "its too late for her, put her down"...I can't even scream and tell them I'm very much alive, awake. I see the army dude put a needle into the IV and intense burning...pain shoots up my arm into my heart and chest. Everything goes black.

I wake up.I have never had that happen to me before, even with my recurring nightmares I always wake up before the bad thing happens. As soon as I realize it's a dream I am able to alter it or wake up. What a crappy night. I've spent the whole day popping my fingers thankful I have all 10, yet reliving the feeling and sound of them biting into them and ripping them off.Phew. Thanks for listening, and by the way...there was no reason for that Dr. James Raven to do the karate kung fu dance in this tarantula documentary. Now I'm watching them shock the damn spiders with electrical wires in order to have them spit out venom. Huh...I bet Tom Cruise and Katie DO have a baby monkey.

"and if I could dream at all, it would be of you"...

Dancing Neurons Go Round n Round

Before I was born, mom says dad used to sing at her baby bump at night when they went to bed.

Every...night. She told me that on a summer day in the 80's - the loudest baby girl in Mayaguez, PR was born and was creating a riot in the nursery at 2:52 p.m.They had tried everything-feeding, diapers, giving me to mom to coo at-and the nurses kept saying I was just being a fussy baby. So, at her wits end my mom handed me into my dad's arms...and the first thing he did was hold close to him and sing. I shut up immediately.

When I was 8 months old, my parents put me down for an afternoon nap. As they were walking out of the room and about to close the door, they heard someone whistling. My aunt was just arriving at the doorway too, she was coming to visit and she told my dad "stop whistling you're going to wake 'charo' up"...my dad assured her he hadn't whistled. They both heard it. So they just shrugged it off, and about 15 minutes later when they were having coffee in the dining room, they heard more whistling coming from my room...at which point they rushed into my room to see what was up. They all looked in the crib to see me whistling for the first time. I never stopped after that.

When I was a year old, I used to keep rhythm by tapping my foot on my carseat following the beat to my parents beat up radio.

Music. When everything else has failed, when everyone is gone, music has been my life. There's something about it that can fill a void once thought to be empty forever. It can move or break me, it can bring a smile to my face, a tear down my cheek, a need to dance around like a dork. My guitar makes things feel right, even if I'm not as good as I wish I was. My voice can express in a song (although it cracks and it's not even close to how good I sound in my head) my exact mood. When my eyes reveal nothing to you, listen to the songs I choose to play...they will speak volumes as to how I'm feeling that day.

Whomever I love, must understand this need and drive I have for music. Must understand why I can listen to a certain song 4 or 5 times in a row and close my eyes on certain verses or guitar riffs. Must understand what is happening inside my head and body when I'm hearing the only thing that makes sense in life...music. I can feel a strum from the tip of my fingers to the deepest part of my heart. It can make me feel like I can do anything. Music unites me with others, it's my companion...it's like poetry.

There's a song for every person I've met. Every single one of you that have crossed my life, has a song I associate with you. Some of you will be forever in my mind no matter how badly I want to forget you, because you embodied what one of my favorite songs was for eternity. When it all fades, when I'm old (if i make it that far), when I have children (if i have any), when I'm saying I LOVE YOU to someone...there will be a song. There will be a dancing soul. I will be alive.

"There's things I remember...things I forget, but I miss you, I guess that I should..."

Find me a little Oblivion - Originally written 5/29/09

She was mad again.

It seemed lately we had more arguments and bad days, than the long talks we used to have when I was a little girl.

It had been different back then. She hugged me a lot more, and we'd talk for hours laying on her bed with the sound of the fan slowly buzzing in the background. We'd try not to move too much, with all the humidity and heat of those rainy island afternoons, you'd be sticking to the sheets in less than 2 minutes. So in the middle of the humid haze and the symphony our old fan produced...long talks of poetry, stories of her childhood and the ones of generations before her would send my mind drifting into a world I never lived in, yet knew so well.

We were so close, her and I. She'd confide in me, at such a young age, knowing that I understood what she meant...I understood the meaning of love, hate, life...loss. I was her best friend and she was mine. We would whisper and giggle about silly things, or look at the ceiling quiet and just hold each other's hand if it was a sad memory or poem we were reciting. Her love for literature was something so overwhelming that I could not help but want to be like her, having a verse for every ocassion. Having a poem for every memory, her brilliant mind stuck in this dull life of being a housewife and mother...nothing else. I envied that she got to go to college and get a BA before she had me, and that now she had a home, husband, daughter AND an education.

She was so close to me. I would study the way her eyes brightened or saddened as we talked...the way her lips moved. I'd play with her hair, long back then and wondered how long would I have her for. I'd burst into tears sometimes just imagining the day she would leave me and I would see her no more. I used to do that a lot when I was little, imagine how it would be like when one of my parents would die...I would upset myself almost daily. We were so close.

Not now...now she was angry again. I was 16 and wanted my hair dyed for the first time, who else would I trust by mom to do it. Why was she so angry?? Maybe it's because I look so much like my dad...it's like she had to stare at his face all day, and relive her nightmare. But I was not my dad, I didn't leave her, I didn't make her get on her knees and beg me to stay. No woman should have to do that, but she-the proudest woman I had ever known, the most unforgiving-had gotten on her knees as a last resort, clutched at his shirt and begged. "Mom? Your pulling my hair really hard, it hurts." I had said quietly, trying not to cry...it really did hurt. Her brows pulled even closer together and I swear I could see her nostrils flaring...she pulled my hair even rougher. I fought back tears, but lost. Why did she hate me? I was with her, taking care of her and going to high school at the same time. Being her psychologist and the adult for the time being. Making sure she got out of bed to eat, making sure she didn't close in on herself...keeping her mind occupied.

I let out a quiet hiccup sob and she lost her mind for the next 15 minutes. Yanking my hair and screaming at me for being lazy and irresponsible, that I wasn't a child anymore and that I had to stop depending on other people to do shit for me...what?! She tells me that I needed to make something of my life so I wouldn't end up like her, dealing with betrayal. Why is she taking it out on me? I'm hurting too! I miss him too! I hate him too! Yes...I still loved him too. That's what she couldn't handle, that she had loved someone so much that it STILL hurt even after he commited the ultimate betrayal. That she would've taken him back in a heartbeat. She stops with my hair and takes her gloves off, stomping upstairs to her room and slamming the door and yelling to fix my own damn hair. I sit in the middle of the dining room, on a lone chair looking out the window into the snow covered streets outside. Crying loudly, and now angry, I slam my chair against the wall and go to the kitchen sink. Washing the dye out and coughing my tears down the drain. I scream loudly into the towel, this time not caring if she hears me breakdown. I had held it in so long, and now I couldn't stop. I felt my hands shaking, my face burning and my lungs collapsing in my chest...but the scream wouldn't stop.

It turned into a growl. It turned into a loud, crashing "MOM! WHY?!". But I didn't want an answer, I wanted to go. I grabbed a vial of pills from the top of the fridge, my dad's high blood pressure ones...and unscrewed it in less than a second, shoving them all down my throat. No water needed, they were small, they went without a fight.

Three seconds later I'm on my knees in front of the fridge crying quietly, numb...at peace. Something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. Blinking between my tears I look at the bottom of the stairs, where she's sitting staring at me her face showing the emotion range of a dead robot zombie (oh yeah, really dead like). Even then, I thought she was just going to watch me fade away...but something awoke inside of her. I saw the transformation completely happen in a fraction of a second...when she suddenly jumped on her feet and grabbed my face, shoving her fingers inside my mouth and saying "did you swallow them?? Yari?? DID YOU??". But I couldn't answer...I was so surprised that she was what my mom used to be years ago, I was afraid of even moving and things going back to deadville. She started crying and saying what was I thinking, why would I do that to her ... to try to throw them up, try Yari. She picks up the phone and calls my dad, fuck 9-1-1 let's call the deadbeat...Anyways, Dad appears at our doorstep 5 minutes later and I'm not quite sure between the both of them shove me in the car and take me to the ER. Stomach pumped...nasty feeling...yet...mentally, I was so clear. Mom was slowly being mom again...Dad left us at our doorstep hours later and promised to be there tomorrow to take me to the shrink's office they set me up with for an emergency consult.

The next day, with my hair half dyed and disheveled, matching the dark circles under my eyes...I sat in the shrink's office. I stared at the pale yellow walls, I wondered why it smelled like lysol and so sterile...was he a surgeon too? Could he crack into my head and snip a few memories away from my brain? A 2 for 1 deal? I sat there...holding my mom's hand...smiling. Just her and me...and it was going to be ok.

It will always be...her and me.

New Beginnings and Such...

Guess I begin again, this being a trial post. I'll move over poetry and short fiction from my old blog to this one.

Frank McCourt wrote in Angela's Ashes: "It’s lovely to know that the world can’t interfere with the inside of your head."

The inside of my head...thank the pastrami gods for this blog. Words liberate me, thoughts amuse me... More to come later, so much more.

"Dreams last for so long, even after you're gone..."

Congratulations...It's a Monkey

Past few days have been hectic I suppose.

I don't think the shock of having no job has hit me yet. I'm sure it will tomorrow when my boss (ex boss?) is unable to give me my paycheck due to being broke. I guess by the end of the week I'll start looking for something new if he cant assure me I'll have a job again in a few weeks.

Today I was at my parents house all day just being cool like only I know how to be, seems I've been helping them out a lot and spending time with aunts that are visiting. My dad's health remains the same, which worries me to no end. While I was at my parents house earlier making jewelry (i tend to do this hobby to not think about anything else except beading necklaces) and being quite relaxed talking to my aunts, we heard the back porch bell ring. We went out and the poor little old lady that lives next door had fallen. Ethel is about 89 yrs old and a bit heavy set but she certainly doesn't look her age. Nonetheless, Ethel was on her driveway screamin in pain, apparently had an awful fall and her sister couldn't get her up. Her sister is also elderly and poor thing was just nervous. We went over and got her in the car, took her to the ER with her sister, I hope she's doing ok. Still, I feel bad when older people hurt.

Now I'm sitting here like a dork before going to bed, my body very exhausted but my mind as usual running running like a little hamster in a squeaky wheel. I'm watching a documentary on Animal Planet on tarantulas, and I really shouldn't as I tend to dream about the last thing I see at night. Last night was horrible, it took me a bit to fall asleep...and when I finally did the most realistic never-ending nightmare ensued. Before I tell you about my nightmare, I must share with you that they're showing the doctor on t.v. that's gonna talk about tarantulas, and for some reason he's in the middle of a desert landscape in full karate gear doing strange moves for a rather obese fella. What that has to do with tarantulas remains to be seen, I'll let you know.

Anyways, my dream started rather normal with me sailing on a Spanish 15th century boat...and I was a captain. I was just shouting orders and telling people which side of the boat was which and how to set sail and the sea around us was just a beautiful shade of teal with little white foam tips shining as far as the eye could see. So here I am, captain of my own boat, pulling into a sort of port where Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes are waiting for me with their new baby in their arms. They wanted to see the boats and needed someone to watch their new baby boy, who I should mention, as I got close turned out to be a baby orangutan in a onesie. A pale yellow onesie. Yes, this is a normal dream to me, whenever I'm not having the recurring wolves nightmare I usually have. Right, so as I'm rocking this baby monkey Cruise-Holmes in my arms and trying to make it fall asleep...I'm suddenly walking in a hospital hallway and everything has vanished from my previous peaceful dream.

Now I find myself seeing everyone from patients to doctors to visitors running in a panic around me, past me...away from me. While this happens, I hear a low groan...correction..groans and scuffling behind me, and panic takes a hold of me. I look behind me and zombies that were a mix between the movie 28 Days Later and Resident Evil are swarming the hospital. I start running after the crowd, apparently everywhere we chose to hide was already crawling with the undead and slowly the crowd of normal humans, such as myself (hey i was normal in this dream, gimme a break), keep dropping like flies. I run out the staircase, and make it to the next floor down before realizing they're already flooding the rooms below me and almost catch me on the stairs. Bad move Yari, should've stayed in the floor you were...there's even less regular people on this floor and scores of flesh eaters running all over the place. This is the point of the dream where I realize this is a damn dream, and I'm trying to change the outcome...failing miserably. Why won't I wake up? I run into a men's restroom and there's a zombie coming out of the stall (his pants were up and he had flushed thankfully) and trying to grab me. I kick the door in and he falls back inside the stall at which point it magically locks behind him. He's kicking and banging in there and I say to myself "I better get out of here, all this ruckus is gonna alert the rest of them that I'm in here." So I run out and realize they're closing in around the restrooms so I run into the female restroom and check, double check, TRIPLE check under the stalls to make sure I'm alone. I see no feet, I'm safe. I quietly lock the door behind me and I hear a scuffle, I look down again and this time I see a pair of feet peeking from the middle stall and I'm too late to keep the little old lady trapped in there. This is horrible. I KNOW I'm dreaming yet coming at me is a once sweet 80'ish yr old lady with half her face apparently decayed and blown off. Even in the dream I feel like crap about what I'm about to do. I kick her in the chest for her to fall on her back and I stomp on her neck and face feeling her crush under me. I just killed an old lady...well an undead old lady. When is this stopping!!!?? I already know I'm dreaming dammit when am I waking up? I don't know why at this point I decide to run out of the stall, out of sheer panic I guess. But yeah, bad move again, now there's about 6 of them surrounding me and they overpower me. Wake up. Wake up. Aren't you supposed to wake up at this point? I feel their mouths starting to tear me apart, ripping my fingers, biting into my neck and shoulder...sheer pain...my heart beating out of my throat more afraid than I've ever been. I still don't wake up. One of them tears my ankle off, pain pain pain burning...gurgling as the other one bites into my throat and takes a chunk off. There goes another finger. So much blood, so many teeth. Last thing I remember doing is clutching my cell phone so hard in the remaining hand that it starts beeping and ringing and they are taken aback long enough for the 'men in white space suits' and the army dudes to blast em off me. I feel the good guys gently put me on a stretcher...I'm in so much pain...my breath full of gargled blood. Why have I not woken up, this is a dream. I feel them stick a needle in my arm and put an IV on. Some doctor looks at me and says "its too late for her, put her down"...I can't even scream and tell them I'm very much alive, awake. I see the army dude put a needle into the IV and intense burning...pain shoots up my arm into my heart and chest. Everything goes black. I wake up.

I have never had that happen to me before, even with my recurring nightmares I always wake up before the bad thing happens. As soon as I realize it's a dream I am able to alter it or wake up. What a crappy night. I've spent the whole day popping my fingers thankful I have all 10, yet reliving the feeling and sound of them biting into them and ripping them off.

Phew. Thanks for listening, and by the way...there was no reason for that Dr. James Raven to do the karate kung fu dance in this tarantula documentary. Now I'm watching them shock the damn spiders with electrical wires in order to have them spit out venom. Huh...I bet Tom Cruise and Katie DO have a baby monkey.