Baby It's Cold Outside

Saturday.

Forced myself out of bed.

Forced myself to dress in something other than pajamas.

Forced myself out the door.

The sky was beautiful. The day was beautiful. Wince.

Sat down to eat my first meal other than saltines or soup in a week. Baby It's Cold Outside came on.

Pain. Pain. Pain. Holidays. Pain. Nothing. Pain. Three bites of food. Nausea. Tears. Pushed plate away. Went back to apt.

Back in bed. Still dressed. Stillness.

http://youtu.be/FTNheCEUP_A

Don't Go

Mom,

You're standing behind me drying my hair, as we watch a tv show about dream weddings for people who've had what you call "taste for champagne but a Coca Cola salary." You say, jokingly, that all you remember of my wedding day is my few words and the tears that wouldn't stop as I sat in my room all dressed up, in the dark. I try to laugh...but only a small, dry chuckle comes out with a quiet "heh. Yeah."

Tears have been quietly streaming down my face for about 30 minutes now and you finally noticed, as you brushed hair out of my face. You kissed my forehead and you just look at me waiting for me to tell you why I'm so sad. But, how can I tell you what's wrong? That my heart is completely broken by the past and the present. You're my mom. You've been my best and sometimes my only friend. How many more moments like this do we have left? How can I tell you I'm slowly but steadily losing my dreams...my happiness...my life? Why should I put my sadness on your shoulders when you need me to smile and pretend I'm happy and ok and strong? You want nothing more than to believe I have a happily ever after in store for me in the future. That's what would make you have a good night's sleep. To know your daughter is loved and happy and not alone. That she's just emotional because the dream wedding show is demonstrating that good things happen to good people.

I can't make the tears stop now. And the silence is growing uneasy. So here I go hiding my face in my phone until I can regain composure. Because all I can tell you is that my heart hurts like I've never felt it hurt before...and we've been through some tough crap...yet nothing us killing my soul like this. All I can tell say is that I am afraid of losing you soon and I'm devastated if I lose my heart for good. That I'm standing in the middle of a room asking the different people that make up my heart "Please, don't go?"...but, all I really am becoming is just something forgettable...part of the background. Invisible. Mute. Nothing.

Please. Don't go.

Another year, Erin

My dearest sister,

I started this blog last week, a day before your birthday. I had a lot written in it about fate and friendship and god knows what else. I deleted every single word...and here is what I really want to say.

Happy belated birthday, my beautiful angel. I still remember the roses on your dining room table, when I arrived at your house for my 25th birthday. You remembered they were my favorite color. That whole trip I got lost in your eyes...We got lost in each others silence. You held me as I cried, harder than I ever had in front of anyone, while the rain beat against the windows outside...I will never be able to give you those moments you gave me for my birthday. What's more, you put aside your heart and your grief back then...to heal my wounds. I wish I could do the same for you. It's the very least I want to give you for this birthday.

I'm sitting in my empty, cold bed with only the glow of the laptop illuminating the room. I'm sure I don't have to say a word, but you have felt how I have been the last couple of weeks. You've done what you always do...give me space. Even though you know I am plugging holes left and right...but the water keeps flowing in...and I'm going under. Your best friend, one of them, and here I am selfishly wallowing in this indescribable pain and loneliness...I couldn't even send you a message. I loathe myself at the moment that much more. I am sorry, for everything that has happened. I'm sorry you loved for so many years, and waited patiently for him. I'm sorry you gave him everything...you and the girls both gave him so much love...but in the end, love isn't enough. You did one of the hardest things any human will ever have to endure: Look at your true love in the face, and close the door. Not because you didn't need love like air, or you became bored and wanted to move on. Not because you hadn't given it your all and would've given even more if it had just asked you to, with a look. You did it so you wouldn't die. Plain and simple. It was killing you. To see it get colder, distant...to see it slip away, being happy without you by its side. No words needed to be said. Don't we always know, my beauty? When we are being lied to? When details are being omitted? Don't we see beyond what's not being said or what is...and know it's bleeding in our arms and we can't save it? You did it to save yourself. And even though you are submerged in pain now...even though you may be dying without it, anyways...at least now it's your choice. You have the control. You're not putting your love and light out there, only to get a small fraction back. 

So if there's anything I can say right now, aside from quite possibly the saddest birthday blog post ever... is that I love you. That I'm sorry I haven't seen you in so long. I'm sorry I am not around much, even though you know in your heart...where I am currently. Like you said last time we spoke...it always seems like we are at the edge of a storm, waiting for it to hit. The taste of vomit in my mouth (I threw up my soul and 4 boots about 30 minutes ago) and the weight of the universe's heaviest silences crushing my chest are proof of this. Of the wait. But like you said...we hold on. For that tiny break...those three words...that insignificant loving gesture...and there it is. We are fine again. A lifetime of neglect and pain and sadness completely erased by a hit of our favorite drug: Love.

I hope for a better year. Love and light, sister. Let's get through winter in one piece. I hope your birthday was filled with family and friends. I hope our eyes meet again soon, and we can tell each other "I love you. I need you. I'm here." with a glance, once again.

Damaged, but eternally yours,

Shaunee

How A $1 Book Trumped A $50 Shrink Visit

I was at my local grocery store earlier today, grabbing the essentials to make chili. It's fall. It's Cowboys football. The cold and melancholy are settling in for the year. All sorrows are less with bread, no? Bueller?

The store has a special running, where you get a book for $1 with the purchase of selected food items. So, when I bought some shredded cheddar for my Frito Pie, I started looking at the basket of books to see what I could grab. I was just going to grab a book and give it to a friend, for her kids. Under the endless pile of Winnie The Pooh, Sesame Street and H-E-Buddy books, a pair of own eyes with the words "Don't Worry!" over them caught my attention. I flipped through it and the pages landed on this image:

The sight of this page, both made my heart overwhelmed with sadness and anger. Last night was a long, long night. The kind of night that you fall asleep completely spent from crying for hours. Where you go to sleep knowing no one really gives a shit how you are feeling as long as you're there for them when needed. I grabbed the book with the intention of writing a post about that single image. I wanted to be cynical, to demand that we stop teaching children lies like this. Having them grow up believing in love and truth and fairness. To stop feeding them crap like you can be happy if you try hard and do right by people. That everyone has their someone and because of that, they'll never be alone. I know. I may have had a rough night even after I went to sleep.

When I got home, I was putting my groceries up and my mom called again (she had called last night). She wanted to see if I was still "off". Last night she was forcing me to talk instead of cry quietly on the phone. She demanded to know, even after I said I didn't have the words to explain my grief. "You have the words, you do. You just don't want to say them. TALK." The call ended when I broke and told her to just leave me alone. This morning she was calmer, but I could still hear the tension in her voice, the worry... Would I do something stupid? Why am I not saying what's wrong? She was also relieved I didn't hurt myself, apparently. The call was short and when I hung up, I felt heavy. I opened the book and flipped through it...

This was no ordinary book. I kept flipping through the pages and reading, waiting for the happy-go-lucky bullshit message, but it never came. This book had a specific, Yari'esque nudge to it. A page showing a group of nervous, cautious penguins read ..."We must move with the times, as soon as the times are sure which way they're moving." Another one showed a frog hanging from a crocodile's mouth, and in beautiful script font it said "Some days are better than others. This, unfortunately, is one of the others." The next page greeted me with a big brown bear, dragging itself across two pages, with the words "At my current rage of progress, I'll soon be somewhere behind my starting point." I smiled, comforted, as a frog with big red eyes declared "I could try resigning myself to fate - but what if fate refuses to accept my resignation?" Page after page of what some may consider depressing messages for kids. But, halfway through the book, the message becomes clearer. The confused looking crane tells me to not let success go to my head..and if I fail, to not let failure go there either. The cat grooming it's paw whispers "If you take care of yourself, that will be one less person you have to worry about." And the last page shows me the same nervous penguin from the beginning, now jumping off a glacier saying "Do something important with your life: enjoy it!"

I felt calm. I felt comforted. I still felt sad, but not hopeless. I still felt lost, but not forever. The author said that she was born a worrier, but after watching that 'Life After People' series..she realized 3 big things:

1. Nature will clean up all or messes eventually; everything will be fixed, everything will eventually be OK.

2. Whatever happens, we are but a tiny blip. We might as well stop worrying about the small stuff, because in the grand scheme of things, even the things we think are really big...are actually tiny.

3. If there is no point in worrying, then we may as well be happy. It is as simple and as difficult as that.

A $1 book was able to calm me down more than hours of self mutilation, days of bone crushing grief and $50 spent talking to a guy with a notepad who solves everything by medicating me. There's nothing wrong with feeling how I do. I can't help things from happening in my life or to me. Eventually, things will be OK. I just have to make it through today. Celebrate my little victories and stop waiting for someone value me how I deserve to be. Only I can do that.

So, I'll make some chili for my Frito Pie now. Something is bound to break, work, happen. I am a good person.

Wake Up

Ester asked why people are sad....

"That’s simple," says the old man. "They are the prisoners of their personal history. Everyone believes that the main aim in life is to follow a plan. They never ask if that plan is theirs or if it was created by another person. They accumulate experiences, memories, things, other people's ideas, and it is more than they can possibly cope with. And that is why they forget their dreams.”

~ excerpt, The Zahir, Paulo Coehlo

When was the last time you dreamed? When was the last time you stopped to do something that was 100% yours and for you. Geared at your own peace, happiness, life? When you are happy...those around you absorb it. If they don't, they never cared about your happiness or well-being in the first place...yet you let those call your shots? Someone that doesn't care how you feel about choices? None of what I'm saying is a luxury. If making a decision for yourself will destroy the perfect bubble you call life...something isn't right. And you know this. I don't have to tell you.

I may be a hot mess. But I'm not afraid to live the life I am choosing. One choice doesn't determine your whole life...not unless you let it become who and what you are.

I am a hot mess. But...according to who?

Happy Failures Day

Today is National Failures Day. Yes, Hallmark has found a way to take a normal August day and make a celebration out of screw ups. They even have a little blurb on their website about what these "failures" may be...Burning toast...Knocking over a bookcase...

To my intense displeasure, I found no "Hey I'm sorry I killed your cat while picking you up for a date" cards or "Please forgive me for throwing you under the bus at work to make myself look good" posters. Oh Hallmark, you sack of failure. HA! Get yourself a card.

I haven't had many failures, as I only categorize under that label things that have resulted in a permanent black mark in my life card. Things you can't undo no matter how much time goes by. You simply learn to live with them and learn your lesson, hopefully. That's a failure. The rest of the unfortunate situations are merely that. Lessons. Situations. Periods in life. You look back one day and shake your head at how less than brilliant you were.

Moments that weren't my finest:

- Eating a powdered donut I was specifically told not to eat until after dinner, then lying about being the one that ate it with my face and shirt covered in powdered sugar. (Age 4)

- Getting mad at my mother and packing undies, a princess Jasmine nightie, my Smurfs collection into a tiny pink bin...then dramatically telling her I was running away forever...making it 30 feet from my driveway and down the road and running back around crying because Mom said "I guess I'll have to find a new daughter to love and give all your stuff to..." (Age 4)

- Shaving off my best friend Arelys's eyebrows. Completely off. (Age 7)

- Spinning my best friend David around a parking lot, while he sat inside a shopping cart, so fast that he flew out of it and hit his head on a light post...then bribing him with a dollar to not tell my parents what I did. (Age 8)

- Getting an incontrollable fit of loud giggling with my two younger cousins at a funeral, when I pictured me throwing a purple Teletubbie plush I had into the open coffin across the room. (Age 11)

- Learning to skateboard just to impress a guy I had a crush on, and falling repeatedly on my ass while wearing a skirt uniform from school. Dusting myself off from one of my falls and finding him making out with my best friend at the time. (Age 14)

So on...so forth...just moments in time.

Happy Failures Day. Whatever that means. I know what it means. And there's nothing happy about it.

28 Candles

I'm 28 today.

I wish this were a big, elaborate and meaningful post about how my life has changed blah blah. No. Here's my birthday in a nutshell:

I bought myself a strawberry cupcake and put candles on it. I blew them out and popped in The Emperor's New Groove. While I was at Michaels earlier (purchasing my candles), a very frail looking lady approached me in a frenzy. "You're wearing a hat! Just like I am!" Oh boy. Why me? I smiled at her and her green baggy cap sat crookedly on top of multi colored hair. She had huge dangly earrings, beads hanging from her hair and glasses, numerous necklaces and rings and every color in the rainbow on. She yanked my iphone out of my hand and tucked it in my pocket, then stuck her hand out so I could shake hers...I did. "My name is Mary Ann *** ***. Born and raised in Midland, TX". I couldn't help but smile, genuinely, at how I manage to attract characters. "My name's Yari. Puerto Rico." She started squealing about Puerto Rico and about our hats (I'm wearing a baseball cap), then said "I love that whole look you have going on. You look wonderful! So beautiful! Plus today is your day!" I was startled for a second. I didn't know this lady...what did she mean? I carefully said "Yeah, today's my birthday." She asked how old I was now. "28..." "Oh, I wish I could be 28 again...but I'm 49." "It's ok Mary Ann, 40 is the new 20." "YAY! Then I'm close to your age!" "You sure are. You look great too." She shook my hand again and told me to have a beautiful day. Just like that. The whirlwind that was Mary Ann flew out of my life as quick as it came in it.

So, if anything, I leave you with this. Sixteen Candles may have been true to a certain point. Sometimes birthdays aren't an event. Just another day. Oh man, and do they rarely end with you sitting in a dress on the kitchen table kissing your crush over a perfectly positioned, lit birthday cake. Sometimes you buy yourself a cupcake and meet an insane new person who you later realize is just like YOU, only 20 years older.

See you all again next year.

Goddammit: The Starbucks Edition

Today, Saturday July 14th, 2012...will be known as the day I will never be able to look at myself in the mirror the same way. Why, dear reader, have I lost a bit of my soul?

I'm out and about today, you see. Not doing anything in particular, really. I have my Nikkon D60 SLR camera out in case I see something amusing I just HAVE to pull over and take a picture of. I have a bathing suit I need to return at Old Navy, and regarding that all you need to know is that sometimes people do NOT need to see bits of me that should be forever hidden. I have big plans of using the money from the bathing suit (whopping $25) to buy soap, detergent, clorox and a broom. Hold back your obvious envy towards my insanely awesome weekend. I will clean. A lot. Then I'll play guitar or paint, while I answer calls from work. Living large. I know.

That, however, is not the point of this burst of words. Between returning my bathing suit and buying cleaning supplies, I had a marvelous idea. "Why don't I go by Starbucks and grab me a mocha coconut frappucino?" Innocent enough, right? Somehow the drive-thru idea turned into, "Hey, it looks empty inside. I'll just go in and grab it. AC is good in summer. No hipsters or obnoxious teenagers. Just me, my frap and a comfy chair to sink in..." Famous last words.

I brought my laptop inside, in case I got a work call. While ordering my drink, the barista excitedly interrupts and proclaims: "I LOVE your tattoo! It's so cute! Are you a music major?" I smile awkwardly and say, "No. I'm a guitarist." Her eyes get big and she continues, "OMG! ME TOO!". While my mouth and smile are saying "That's very cool...", my mind is screaming "No, honey, I can't afford to study music in that way. I just teach myself and hope for the best." I make my way to the lovely leather seat. To my right, on the very pricey coffee table, there is a rather large bamboo plant. I look up and there's two 15 year olds in almost no clothing, sitting indian style on the chairs and saying 'like' every other word during their conversation about a 'hilarious' trip to Walmart they endured. Behind them a dude with a very, very exotic sounding drink and in full on running gear browsing on his Mac. Behind him, a mildly buff Asian man in a pristine, albeit tiny, pearl snap shirt and Chucks that look like they've been steam cleaned and pressed before wearing. There's at least two guys in line with glasses and beards, identical arms crossed...bored expressions. To my left, a young man watching a Steve Jobs video on his Mac with gigantic Bose headphones on and a messenger bag by his feet that's worth more than my life up to this point (and I'm sure that's a $400 pen neatly tucked in the bag). Then there's me...

Drinking a frappucino...and on my Mac because I thought it would be hilarious to blog about what's around me...until I realized I've become THAT person. At Starbucks. With a MBP. Drinking something weird. Blogging. And while I SHOULD feel comfortable and like I finally "belong" with society's coffee hipster crowd, everything I own and/or am wearing while sitting here (including this device I'm typing on) has been gifted to me by people wanting me to be able to have something nice that I probably couldn't afford on my own. However, instead of feeling like a charity case or like I should try to finally blend in with people that merely look and act a certain way...I'm going to go ahead and give in and say, goddammit. I've become the Starbucks hipster crowd blogger. Just for today.

But I'm shutting this off now and heading back out. Because the sky is blue and the day is young. I want to enjoy the day the ways I always have and see what I can create away from a keyboard. I don't just have to be ONE thing. I'm defined by all my components.

P.S. If I start growing a beard and traveling around wearing Toms, please feel free to shoot me.

Says Who?

Says who?

I find myself wondering that a lot lately. I ask it of many things that are arising in my life for the first time and of things that I've always been told are a certain way simply 'because'.

In a week, I will be 28. I have no children. "Don't you want any? Shouldn't you get on that already?" I answer "Says who?"

I am a 28 year old woman. I enjoy, nay, LOVE wearing bright sneakers or shoes. Jeans. Tees. Everywhere. Unless you request that I dress up, I shall not. I do love boy shoes very much. There is no such thing as boy Jordans. There's simply Jordans. "So, you wear boy shoes? So you wear bright colors and childish attire? So you like comics and toys? Shouldn't you tone it down and start acting your age?" I answer "Says who?"

"I'll never make a living with art or an art degree. You need ambition. You need a career. You need to think ahead. Have a plan. Where do you see yourself?" Me? I see myself in a small house, with what I need, enough money to pay my bills, living my life. Get it? Living? Going out for a gd ice cream cone on a summer's eve? "That's not realistic. I couldn't see myself living like that. I don't see how you don't want more." I answer, "Says who? I want more. Just not what you want."

"You can't start over?" Says who.

"You are not being fair to others by putting yourself first. That's not reasonable." Says who.

"Not everything in life can be fun and relaxing." Says who.

"Life, love, decisions...are all complicated."

Says. Who.

Love Killed The Internet

I woke up from a long slumber, to the sound of your voice calling me through the haze. My bare feet flexed slightly under my every step. Like a fawn taking its first wobbly steps into the world around it. Instinct drove me. I was off and there was no turning back. 

In my newfound awareness, I decided to write you a letter on every single leaf of the trees surrounding me. Each one a tiny, green papyrus for my heart to speak to you...words. So many words, big...small, all different; yet, they all might as well been a four letter devotion. Love. But I got so busy writing, so busy...Fall crept up on me. Leaves turned yellow...tawny...maroon. Like an falling army of love letters on fire...dead on the ground. Never to be read. You would never know.

I stared at the naked tree trunks, and decided to carve my passion. I drove our initials in with a knife, copying them from my heart onto theirs. Over and over, tracing each curve on the letters, until the lines ran as deep as my adoration of you. I heard laughter around me, noises, music. I felt people come and go. I never looked up from my task, this time it would be permanent. This time you would know. But a silent nudge made me look over my shoulder, and over every heart-wrapped love spell...the world had come and gone...leaving thousands of messages of its own, covering mine with urgency. Dozens of "Come see our band", a handful of "Reward for missing dog", a single "Have you seen this man?", hell...even a "For a good time..." My message buried. You would never know. 

The night was sprinting past me. Out of time, I found a big, empty wall...high up on the side of a forgotten building. I climbed, climbed...with cans of paint and a brush hanging off my belt. The city sped by, the stars traveled across the sky, and I? I painted your eyes. Open, deep, loving. I painted mine, peering up at you softly from where your chest would be. The sun signaled the new day's arrival, tinting my image in goldenrod. I stumbled back across the street, on to another rooftop and sank on my heels. Your face looked alive on the wall, and the worship in my eyes...for you...was unmistakable. Loud beeping pierced the morning stillness. The ground rumbled. The crowds gathered. A giant wrecking ball with the word "Life" graffitied on it delivered a single, devastating blow to my mural. It crumbled bricks and eyes and peace and cement into a fine dust, that settled down below. A pile of feelings and history. You would never know.

So. Here I am. Writing Love on a corner of the world wide web. In a place only I can control what's said, where it's displayed, who reads it and where I can pretty much guarantee you will read the message tonight, tomorrow or 100 years from now. If you wake up tomorrow and the whole internet has somehow collapsed onto itself and humanity finds itself at a loss as to what to do without this wonderful mess of messages that connect us...

Well...You will never know, I guess. And I apologize for breaking the internet.