Ho Ho Horrendous

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.

("The Animals Were Gone" by Damien Rice)

I hope you all had very nice holidays with your loved ones, or by yourselves, and that in the midst of it all you felt a warm feeling wrap around you. That was probably me, thinking of you. Or you peed yourself. Either way, I hope it was enjoyable.

The family is here visiting, so I haven't been able to be around as much. Tomorrow we're headed to the New Mexico mountains for snow and things. I haven't baked. I haven't slept. I have not much hope left for certain things in my life, so to avoid feeling sad every day, I'm just cutting those things out. If it's pain now or pain later, I rather go through it now and get it done with. Move on.

I finally went to see Harry Potter 7...a month later. It was dark, gloomy and depressing...as it was expected to be given the point in the books we're reaching in these movies. Death, grief, disloyalty, betrayal, wands and Ron Weasley getting hotter by the second. Bill and Fleurs' wedding was beautiful there for a while. Jesus...I'm sitting here discussing Harry Potter with you. My apologies.

I also went to see True Grit. That was overall good, very humorous in some ways...very real in others. Jeff Bridges was...Jeff Bridges. Matt Damon was fat and pervy. The little girl was, I don't know who she was. But she has a bit of something going on if you can keep the attention off Bridges and Damon throughout a movie. My popcorn was soggy, and my chair squeaked. But I spent the whole day at the movies, which gave me a nice mental break from everything else.

It's Sunday after Christmas. May your gift returns be few and your football be great. To my friends in the Northeast, stay warm in the blizzard. To me, it'll be ok. It'll be over soon.

Time for nachos.

Con Te Partiro

I'm sitting at work on a Monday morning, swamped under innumerable support calls and sipping on my 4th Coke Zero in 2 hours.

I'm listening to my music, as usual...and out of the haze of metal and blues (sprinkled with a heaping dose of spanish rock)...Andrea Bocelli's 'Con Te Partiro' comes up.

A smile spreads on my lips and I start giggling to myself. I remember my twin's giggle when I'd start singing this song, horribly, on the mic in a Yahoo chatroom. Especially since I sounded like a mix between Beeker and Ms. Piggy when I try to sing it.

I miss her. I miss that. I miss us.

And then Alan Jackson's "Good Time" comes on...and that was Jeff's ringtone. *sips drink quietly*

I've Done Alright For A Girl

The memories we've buried

Have just taken seed
When springtime comes
They'll turn into weeds
And they'll creep through your window
to smother your dreams...

...Yeah, fate has a funny way
of coming around.

The guitar, covered in dust and without a single string in tune, has been sitting in the corner of my bedroom since July. Around the same time I lost all interest in playing it, and music started hurting.

I picked it up two nights ago, when I felt the same hurt that made me put it away in the first place. I played for a while, took this picture and figured, what doesn't kill me...may not make me stronger, but hey, makes me who I am.

I think certain things are dying, and many more will be over. I have my family flying in from Puerto Rico on Dec. 21st and staying for a few weeks up here...in my very tiny two bedroom home. We'll go to New Mexico, see snow and play in it. I'll probably bake while my two aunts and mom, three sisters, sit on the counter laughing at the stuff I come up with and how much like my grandma I am. We'll get quiet, I'll crack a joke...

I'm going to sink in the tub for a bit. Please get out of my head.

Howling

There's a show I just finished watching on the Spanish NATGEO channel titled "Human Pray", that has left me with a new view on a topic that has been a source of terror since my childhood:

Wolves.

I've blogged a few times about how wolves scare me and have been the main villains in a recurring nightmare I've had since I was 7 years old. I've also mentioned how, aside from scaring me, they are one of my favorite animals - after the llamas and seals.

When I was a kid, my father used to think it was funny to howl in the middle of the night until I'd be so scared, I'd be in tears begging him not to turn into a wolf. Funny pops, ha ha. Use the phobia as a joke. Sweet.

The show interviews this family with three sons that decided to go camping at a national park in Canada. They canoe up the river to a secluded part of the forest, about 3 hours from any civilization. After a day of fun and leaving their campground unattended, they make a fire and start cooking dinner. They hear a wolf howling in the distance, and they all join in and howl back. They hear the howls closer, but think nothing of it. In fact, it's such a gorgeous night, they decide against sleeping inside the tents, and opt for a night under the stars...

They put the 3 yr old between his older brothers, who are 11 and 9. The parents go a few dozen feet away, and everyone goes to sleep. Honky Dory. Naturally, in the middle of the night, the wolf found them. He literally was eating the 11 year old's face off, the kid didn't wake up until he felt he was being dragged away fast into the forest. Kid screams, parents fight off the wolf who kept coming back time and time again until they got the hint that A) the wolf was hungry and B) their son lost half his face and was bleeding to death. Canoe their happy asses 3 hours down the river, then 4 hour drive to hospital. Kid made it but is traumatized by wolves.

Ahem. This comforted me greatly. I now realize wolves can't hurt me. Ever. Here's why:

I will not ever camp in an area where wolves live.

I will not camp more than a few minutes from civilization. Screw Bear Gryllis.

My ass will not cook and leave food outside...even if I'm just surrounded by raccoons.

My ass will also sleep INSIDE a tent, with a big ass knife and a shotgun. In case the Zombie Apocalypse begins while I'm on vacation.

In general, I'll limit my wolf contact to nightmares, zoos and on the t.v. Even then, I probably wouldn't howl back.

I need sleep.

Closed Until Further Notice

I think I've shut down for the time being. I haven't bothered looking at my phone or obsessively checking Twitter updates since about 7 p.m. last night. I have spread myself around too thin and carried everyone's loads without making time to carry my own. As usual. Nothing new.

I was sitting in my car, and all these words came out. I was babbling, blurting, being angry for things that are part of the past, explaining how bad it really was inside my head. Ricky just stared at me as I went from laughing, to crying, to screaming, to sighing and joking about just ending it. How it would just be easier for me to remove myself from the picture, rather than disappoint everyone and become a regret in their life. The whole time I was letting every single word out, my phone was going insane vibrating and bleeping for attention...it remained in the pocket of my hoodie. In all actuality, I wanted to slam it against the wall and just forget everyone. I'm only one person, and I need a break.

It's like...if I have time to tweet or update Facebook, that means I have time or the desire to open myself for everyone to come and take, take, take from me. No. It just means I thought of something funny, and I tweeted it. It doesn't mean I feel like talking. If I don't reply to you but to someone else I do, it doesn't mean I have time for them and not you. It just means I felt like answering something, and not another. I feel like every time I try to be there, the unmovable rock, I end up frustrated. Drained and exhausted. Because I get to vent .2% of what's in my brain before you turn it around and make the conversation about you and what you need. So. That's that. I won't be around much for anyone. No one gets to pour their stuff on me for me to carry around and fix. I'm tired. I need my own space to figure out my own issues and where MY life is going.

So, anyways, after my tantrum, I sat in the tub and just cried it all out for a good hour or so. I didn't feel great, but it was better. The silence was great. I curled up into bed by 10 and grabbed my zombie book. I read. I hadn't had the desire to read in months. Sure enough, I couldn't battle sleep from taking me away...in a few short moments.

I dreamed I was on vacation with my parents, aunts from PR and my friend Bryan in some sort of huge hotel in the Midwest. It was the morning we were all coming home, and two things happened simultaneously.

As I exited my hotel room, my dad pulled me aside and said he was leaving our family again, leaving mom. He couldn't take it being with her anymore, he was sorry and that he had tried to make it work. That he had already told her and he'd call me from the road. I sank against the wall and just mumbled "Not again. Please, not again". I went into their hotel room and saw mom, laying on the bed staring at the ceiling, with her arm resting over her forehead. Her eyes were swollen from crying and she smiled at me. That's just how she looked the day Dad said he wanted and divorce and was leaving, when I was 16. This was an exact replica, and it was awful. Dad went over to her and started saying how he was sorry, that he had really given it a shot and he wished her the best. She just nodded, accepting defeat and it angered me that I was once again, left to pick up the pieces of his mess.

At the same time...

I turned to look at the doorway, and Bryan was in his fatigues and with his Army duffel bag. My heart sank to my toes and I asked him where he was going, why was he in uniform. He said he had signed up to do another tour and was leaving in a 2 hours. That it was something he had to do. I demanded to know why he would do that after he said he was done, and that I didn't want him to die. He just hugged me and said "It'll be ok, sweetpea. Thank you for everything. Chin up.", and walked off quickly, slinging his bag over his shoulder. I was standing in that hotel hallway, with him walking away in one direction and my dad walking away in the other. I didn't want to chase after my dad and beg him to stay, even though I knew he would just for me. I didn't want to chase after Bryan and beg him to stay, because he wouldn't and I'd be broken beyond anything.

I woke up at 4 a.m. as my phone was ringing. I stared at it, and closed my eyes again, crying a bit before falling asleep.

And this is where I am right now. Focusing on getting everything done at work quickly. Clearing off my desk of any tasks and wondering if I can make it through tonight.

And yes, I cut. I hadn't in weeks.

I'm stronger than this...I just have to fight for it. I will be better, for my own sake.

Walking Dead...

It's only fitting that my new favorite line in a t.v. show comes from my latest obsession, "The Walking Dead".

At the end of last night's episode, there's this scientist recording himself with his little monologue where he explained what went wrong and how he felt guilty for the outbreak.

The camera backs out as he's rambling. He's alone, in a big room full of computers. The last one left in there in a new world run over by the zombies he helped create.

He's sort of laughing, musing, when he says something along the lines of: "I think I'm going to shoot myself tomorrow. Yeah. Kill myself. Unless I'm too drunk. Maybe I'll just drink a lot."

Yeah. Maybe. Sounds right. Tonight.

Re: (No Subject)

The cold filled every inch of the living room, crawling into every crevice under her heavy winter blanket and wrapping around her fingers. Those fingers that cracked as she typed methodically on her laptop, making her wince and hold her hands close to her chest. The winter made her bones hurt. This one would be no different.

She blew her nose and brushed away the tears that were falling faster than she had a chance to hide. Furious. Broken. Thoughtful. Tired. She read it over, one last time...

"I don't know how to not think of you some days. How to not connect every country song to your name and not let it tug at my heart, opening the wounds all over again. I am fine, most days...and I have no idea what good comes from not letting your memory go. Why am I wondering how your holiday was? If your mom cooked...and how your mom is doing. How I wish I could've sent you guys pumpkin cookies. How right now you're probably sitting on your couch, laying on two pillows wrapped up with your Gamecocks' blanket and twirling your hair on the left side of your temple, where you have that crazy cowlick... It's been a long time. I don't want to miss you anymore. Bye."

This was stupid. This was begging...this was painful. She clicked "Send" and slammed the laptop shut.

Her stomach hurt, but she felt lighter. Maybe after a few more months it would go away forever.

She was back at square one...

Do Not Say You Love Me

Why say it?

Is love a single, solitary feeling? A complicated set of chemical reactions? Words written by a drunken fool with a broken heart, centuries ago?

Dictionary say it's:

• a strong positive emotion of regard and affection
• any object of warm affection or devotion
• have a great affection or liking for
• beloved: a beloved person; used as terms of endearment

Apparently it has mostly to do with feelings. Alright. I'll concede to some of that...

However, I do not - in any way - believe that loving someone is solely saying so or expressing how much I am missed if I'm not there. It is not a parade of promises or acting one way in public, then being utterly different in private.

It is not telling me how lucky you are to have me in your life, or how happy I make you or how amazing I am. It's not telling me I'm beautiful or sexy. It's not telling me you're there for me. It's not using me for your own means, and your own happiness and good times.

If...IF I considered love a word...it would be a verb. An action. Do something!

When I love something or someone, I actively search for it and make it work. I make it happen. Whatever and everything I can do to show it. I give out of myself, materially or physically for someone...even if I don't have it...so that my loved one can be ensured, positive, certain that when I say I love them, I am the embodiment of it.

Do not say you love me. Find your passion in life and go after it. Show the world your heart.

Stop taking love's name in vain. Be free.

Numbers

I count things.

I didn't realize I did, though. Not until the last two years or so, when I found myself keeping track of random things in the back of my head, while present situations were being dealt with by the rest of my brain.

I'm sitting here, at the edge of the bed after a long bath, and I just counted how many times I passed the deodorant stick up and down my armpits. The same pattern, down-up-center. 9 times, on both arms...I have to have the same number of strokes on both armpits or I'll feel incomplete, dirty.

I am, at the same time, counting my breaths and the seconds it's taking me to get dressed. The steps it takes me from the dresser to the bed and back (6 each way). I'm detangling my curly, wet hair with equal comb troughs on each side of my perfectly partitioned hairline. Again, the numbers on each side must match...while I'm counting the deep breaths I'm taking. Breaths that I've timed to match my brush strokes.

This is how everyday is...or at least the days where the anxiety gets the best of me. I count my steps as I walk at work, my bites while I'm eating, the times my car blinker ticks when I have my turn signal on. I try to match the numbers to a pattern or make a rhythm game out of it...

I count everything but sheep...

Maybe that's why I never sleep.

Eye Candy

Red is my favorite color. Or at least I think it is...

How much influence does my favorite color have over my choices in life? My mood? My clothing?

I have recently become infatuated with gummy bears. It's like I've re-discovered how much I enjoyed nibbling off their tiny heads and limbs...how delicious the fruity, gelatinous treat slides in mouth and dances on my tongue. It almost sounds perverted...almost.

That being said...I typically start by eating the red ones first. Instinctively I dart all over the bag fishing out those bright red pieces of joy, and as they become fewer...I feel my smile fading. Why? The white clear ones are good. So are the orange ones. Why do I dismiss those other tasty treats so easily? I literally throw them away. Bryan called me the 'Gummy Racist'. It hit me like a ton of bricks and I felt shame. Then, I threw the non-red ones away.

I love ketchup on everything, and always have. As a kid I remember I loved it on all my food because it looked pretty in red. I tried the green ketchup and hated it. Fruits? My favorites are strawberries, cherries and raspberries. Bananas are awesome, but I never really eat pick them if they're next to some red fruit. Most of my jerseys are red. Every jewelry piece I create or painting I work on, must have red bases. What other candies do I like? Sweet Tarts are my favorite...the red ones. Skittles? The red ones. Now and Then's? ...The red ones. The others taste awesome, but they end up in the trash. My favorite chocolates are Ferrero Rocher or Twix, but always end up buying Kit Kats...red wrappers. Visual stimulation?

I'm not a big fan of green. So I never eat anything lime/lemon flavored. It grosses me out. Even though I like the actual fruit...

I don't know where my thoughts are...but I'm out of gummy bears...so I'm actually googling companies that ship them by the pound, in solid red. No other colors.

I'm a sad, sad weirdo.

Until later, signing off:

The Gummy Racist

Continuum

My eyes burn, sting and water. The yawns, like tiny contractions, are now 2-3 minutes apart. Every signal is indicative that I should be, at the very least, in my pajamas and curled up in bed.

I should not be worrying about things out of my control. Worry is for those with fear, doubt in their heart. What is gained from letting anger fester inside me like a burning ember that comes to life every time the breeze of a memory blows into it? We live, learn, love, lose and move on.

I'm standing alone, on the mountain. Just the wind and the clouds watching over me. I can do this alone, and welcome any company that arrives and chooses to walk the path with me.

I don't know where I'm headed. But I hope to discover the science behind sleep and the truth in the eyes that stare at me, like I'm their last hope.

I may be someone's love, heart, soul and reason for living...

I probably am someone's reason for hatred.

I am awake. Nothing and everything seems to be real at the same time. The line has been blurred beyond recognition.

Light to you. Courage to you. Blessed be, beloved friends.

I am, awake.

Lovey Dovey

I have been absent or absent minded. Both fit. But today I pulled into my house and looked at this scene for about 4 minutes.

In those 4 minutes my mind traveled down many beaten paths in my brain. That in itself never ceases to amaze me, how we are capable of looking at something and running through hundreds of thoughts, images, conversations, memories...one thing connecting to the other and you end up some place completely different to where you began.

I pulled in and looked at the dove.

In Puerto Rico, there is a superstition that pretty much goes like this: When a specific dove (Paloma Sabanera, kind of looks like this one) perches itself in a tree or fence near your home and starts cooing, for several days, it is announcing a death in the neighborhood. Unfortunately, this myth has been proven in many cases in my neighborhood...which gives it an eerie feeling. Normally you don't hear many doves cooing...but when you do, a death happens within a few days.

So, I looked at the dove and my thoughts went as such: Looks like a sabanera dove. This can't be good. Who is going to die? Nevermind. This is not home. I'm not home. I miss home. It's a nice afternoon. Grandpa would be getting home, right about now. The way our land looked at this time in the afternoon, when the sun was setting. My grandfather's voice calling my name. The dove. Grandma. Grandma loved doves. She had a ceramic dove on her dresser where she kept her rings and bracelets. The smell of her room. The sun setting and setting and orange hue inside her bedroom. Her sitting on the bed, combing her hair. Her with a bandana on, with no hair, staring out the window at nothing. The dove. The dove singing outside her window for days. The dove disappearing Friday afternoon. Grandma dying on Saturday. Pain. Pain. I miss you. Her casket. Giving her a bath while she was bed ridden. The scar on her left breast. Cancer. The dove is still there. Grandpa is getting old. I hope he doesn't die. Not before I can see him a few more times. I'm so broke, I can't fly home to see my family. The ceramic dove. She always loved doves. We put the ceramic dove on her tomb. Her name carved on the headstone, right under the dove. I've never been ok after that. I need to be ok. The dove came back after she died, and cooed for a week straight. That noise broke my heart. The breeze carrying the coo through the mango trees. I miss the breeze. I miss home. I let you down, Grandma. The dove flew away. What a nice afternoon. I'm hungry. I need to blog about doves. Good thing I snapped that picture. I knew I would blog it. My back hurts. I'm hungry. Need to get out of the car. I want to slam my phone and disappear. People need to back off and leave me alone.

All in 4 minutes. Because of a dove. She loved doves. Doves represent love.

C wut I did dar?

Some Days

Some days you discover new things you never thought you would.

Some days everything goes your way, you are surrounded and you are strong.

Some days reality sets in. Facts. Cold truths.

And some days, you find the right song for your some day:

SOMEDAYS

- Regina Spektor

Somedays aren't yours at all,
They come and go
As if they're someone else's days
They come and leave you behind someone else's face
And it's harsher than yours
And colder than yours

They come in all quiet
Sweep up and then they leave
And you don't hear a single floor board creak
They're so much stronger
Than the friends you try to keep
By your side

Downtown, Downtown
I'm not here, not anymore
I've gone away
Don't call me, don't write

I'm in love with your daughter
I wanna have her baby
I'm in love with your daughter
So can I please

Downtown, Downtown
I'm not here, not anymore
I've gone away
Don't call me, don't write
I've gone away
Don't call me, don't write
Don't call me, don't call me, don't call me
Don't write, don't write, don't write, don't write, don't write

Somedays aren't yours at all
They come and go
As if they're someone else's days
They come and leave you behind someone else's face
And it's harsher than yours
And it's colder than yours...

F is for Friends

'Friends. They cherish one another's hopes. They are kind to one another's dreams'. - Henry David Thoreau

Sometimes, we forget how lucky we are.

I have friends.

Some have come and gone, and in their brief stay, they have provided ever-lasting memories that last through a lifetime. I've had friends, that have been in my life for over 20 years - and still we find ways to love and cherish each other. A way to celebrate something that is so rare nowadays. True friendship. I've had friends that I have somehow managed to detach myself from, and not a day goes by that I don't feel guilty that in my road to trying new things and finding peace, I have disregarded the faithful love they display for me constantly.

My mom had only one best friend her whole life. Carmen. They were friends from elementary school, all the way through college. Mom is not a person who opens up easily to people, she's always been very guarded and keeps her personal life close to her heart. I remember growing up, mom would sit with me on our giant hammock and bring with her an old tin cigar box full of letters her and Carmen exchanged from their late teens to late 20's. I must have read those letters thousands of times, unable to grasp that these two people were at some point VERY funny, loving and close. They talked about life and their future plans in some letters. Others dove deep into philosophy and religion, with both of them being at opposite sides of the spectrum. But Carmencita had this cut throat approach to humor...sarcastic...brilliant. I'd ask mom when were we going to finally visit her so I could meet her (she only lived a few minutes away) and she'd say 'Soon'. Was she afraid that her liberal friend would corrupt me, since I already had her on a pedestal?

Time passed, I grew up and stopped reading the letters. Mom rarely spoke of her friend. We moved to the US, and when I was around 17, Mom decided to visit Puerto Rico by herself - leaving me behind in the US with Dad. Before the trip she spoke of visiting Carmen, because she missed her a lot and life was in a rough spot...she needed to share with her best friend. Two days after arriving in Puerto Rico, my mom called me and seemed very quiet. I asked her if everything was alright, and she said she went to visit Carmen. I immediately bombarded her with excited questions and giggles, she waited for me to stop talking and said "She died 2 years ago". I felt like my own best friend had died, so I can't imagine what she felt. Her only best friend is now dead, and she never got to reconnect.

When I was 14, I went to a house party in a bad side of town in Mayaguez, PR. I had never been to a house party by myself (no parents) and was mingling around with my much older friend Rebecca. I saw things I shouldn't have but acted like they were the norm for me. That coupled with how tall I was helped in blending in and being able to relax while there. Everyone thought I was older, so I wasn't bothered or made feel unwelcome. While I was sitting there on a couch, watching people smoke and talk, do drug transactions like they were trading baseball cards, a guy in his early 30's came up to me. I looked up at him, in his Yankees jersey and baggy jeans, and then my eyes went from his multiple gold chains to the cane he was leaning on as he walked. He reached his hand out and said "Freddy", with a smirk. I shook his hand and before I could say anything he said "Yari. Carlos' daughter". I must've looked puzzled, because he limped over and sat next to me on the couch, putting his arm around me like he knew me all my life. He started telling me he grew up with my dad in Brooklyn from ages 5 until 14. Both his family and my dad's had moved to PR that same year, to this same town and they had remained good friends. Best friends he said. Dad had never mentioned him to me, which was odd. He said that my dad had changed before I was born, gotten all religious and such. This didn't sit well with Freddy and they stopped hanging out. But he had heard from the family that Carlos had a baby girl, and was living a clean life away from gambling and hustling in pool halls. He was proud of my dad, and said "If he and I would've still been hanging out, he would've gotten shot the same night I did...and maybe he wouldn't be limping". I felt a chill down my spine and simply smiled, feeling very uncomfortable. He could tell I was getting a bit upset and said "Just tell him Freddy said Hi, and thanks for making him wait 14 years to meet his best friend's kid". I nodded, he hobbled away. I told my dad as soon as I got home, and he looked over at my mom...some sort of quiet exchange. We never spoke of Freddy again.

I asked my dad later on if he had any best friends aside from Freddy, he simply said Roberto Patxot was my only best friend. I remembered him, and his three sons (who grew up with me and were in turn my best friends)...and then I thought of something else. When I was 5, I was sitting in the living room watching cartoons and heard the next door neighbor call my mom out to the yard. I saw them out there talking and heard my mom crying. She came in and told me Robert0 had died in a car accident earlier. I was 5, but I understood. I got up and turned off the t.v. and gave mom a hug. I felt very sad for his kids, especially Xavier who was my age and his youngest. Just then my dad pulled in, and he simply stood in the doorway looking battered. Mom gave him a hug and dad cried. He came over and picked me up right away and sat me on his lap and kept telling me he loved me and hugging me tight. I just patted his back and didn't really know what to do. When I was older I found out that Roberto was on his way to meet my dad for lunch, as they did every day, at their favorite restaurant. He never showed up and my dad was really pissed at him that he didn't call or say he wasn't going to lunch, so dad lost an important chance to meet with a big client. When dad found out he had died, guilt over being mad at him pretty much tormented him for years. He still talks about him, and we all get sad and miss him very much.

The friends I've made through life, wether it was the first day of school or a random chance meeting on Twitter, have always brought a lesson with them. I wouldn't change any of the people in my life for anything. Everything happens for a reason, and as the days grow odder and the world gets a little bit more insane, it is these people who bring the laughs and love to me.

I guess I was thinking of how sometimes, even when some friends do crappy things, I should feel lucky that I have them. That I haven't had to bury a friend, or stop hanging out with one because it would mean getting shot if we went out somewhere together. It made me think of how selfish I am, when I feel like ending it. How many people I would hurt, how I'd be THAT person they'd talk about to their kids or families...the one that died.

I'm not really sure where I'm headed with this...but as I enclose myself inside my head more and more these days...I miss my few real friends so much. I rather bury myself, than have to bury one of them.

So be it. Blessed be, all. You are loved.

If You Want Me Dead...

"At least you slept some...that's gotta be good, right?"

Yes. When you put it that way, I guess it is, if you consider sleeping periods of 30-45 minutes at a time, then waking up sweaty and bruised healthy.

I'm having a new nightmare, that started the third night I was in Iowa, a few weeks ago. I don't even know if it's a nightmare and, at this point, I'm beginning to question my sanity. Yes, I had some left.

The first night it happened, I was laying in bed with all the lights off and the window open, the moon was beaming through and giving my hotel room a peaceful blue/purple ambiance glow. I thought I was awake, because, how can a nightmare replicate the room EXACTLY how it looks when I was awake still? Maybe I was in that period where you're falling asleep but still clinging to the awake world for a few more precious seconds.

Anyways, I'm laying there and I feel my bed dip, on my right side (I sleep on the left side of the bed, always), and this big body just lay next to me. Heavy. Almost like a big guy, getting comfortable and sort of resting part of his body against me. Except I just felt the weight, no warmth. My heart was beating out of my chest, and I'm just looking at the ceiling, terrified to look next to me. The moving stops, but the 'body' is still there...and a few minutes later I hear noise.

At first I thought it was someone in the room next door snoring loudly, but the slower I breathed and stiller I got, it became very evident that the body next to me was the one snoring. I've never slept or been with anyone who snores like that. It was very human, which I guess, made it scarier. If it's a scary noise I can say it was a nightmare and in my head...but to feel someone next to you, snoring in a specific pattern and slightly stirring is indescribably horrifying.

Just then, my heart thudding in my throat, I tried saying a prayer out loud. My throat felt like I had strep. The pain was all over, it was swollen and I could barely swallow. My voice was raspy but I managed to start my prayer, and I guess I woke up. The room looked the same, but I didn't feel or hear nothing. However, my throat still hurt...which scared me. I went to bed feeling fine. I wasn't sick. Now it felt like someone had shoved a cactus covered in acid in there.

I guess I drifted off again, unwillingly. The body was there again, the snoring...but something else started happening. I felt myself being moved, very slowly, so that my body was laying horizontal on the bed, instead of vertical. I again, paralyzed by fear, could only be still as my body was completely moved and then slowly pushed up towards the headboard. I felt the cool wood press against the back of my legs and the back of my elbow, and that's all I could take without completely giving into fear and crying out for Mom, Dad...then God. When I said "God please please help me...", my bed literally started shaking, and I heard laughter, and it stopped.

Completely stopped. I'm awake again. My throat hurts worse, my body aches and I just want to cry. I made a few frantic phone calls, everyone was asleep. I told just one person what happened, via text, and he didn't really have any words for me except "Please, be careful". By the time it was over, it was 4 a.m. so, I just stayed up the rest of the night watching something mindless and dull. The room felt quiet, safe enough to sleep again...but I knew it wouldn't be ok.

Now, 2 weeks later, I'm having the same nightmare every night. Everything except the bed shaking and laughter. Mostly because I'm trying to wake myself up every time before it gets there.

I'm not sure if the lack of sleep is getting to me and causing these nightmares...or if the nightmares are what's causing my lack of sleep. It seems it's all in one. I don't want to take happy pills, or sleeping pills...they just jack me up.

One more day. Just have to remember, it's one more day. I love you, all.

"If heaven and hell decide they they both are satisfied. Illuminate the NO's on their Vacancy signs. If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks, I'll follow you into the dark..." ~ DCFC

Godless Angel

Adriana Lima.

That's the first thing that came to mind as I flipped through the channels and the image of this beautiful young girl covered most of my screen. Her olive colored skin and light, almond shaped green eyes reminded me so much of the Brazilian model Adriana Lima...I wasn't surprised when I checked the title of the show I was watching: HDTV Discovery Atlas - Brazil Revealed. Of course.


They cut away from the girl...so I had no idea what her story was. But they dove into all aspects of Brazilian culture. Capoeira has always been something I'm interested in, so when they explained the whole background on it and musical roots, I was pretty much hooked. The documentary was beautiful, poignant...alive. I got lost following three people in their lives in different parts of Brazil. One servant became part of a large parade in Carnival, making her dream come true. This is her:

She was so happy, and I happily hummed along to the samba rhythm she was dancing to.


Then they showed the poor parts, where the life expectancy for males is around 25 yrs old. Either drug use, gang life or a rough home life will cut their future short. It was a bit hard looking at the young boys playing soccer down dusty streets and their bright smiles reminding you that the innocence now present inside that body, wouldn't be there much longer.


They switched back to the little girl, just then, and this amazing view of her little town with cobble streets and old architecture took my breath away. She was walking the streets on her way to her father's house. The narrator explained her parents were divorced, and she lived with her maternal grandmother. Neither parent was in any shape to take her in. So she spent her free time visiting her father or mother across town. Her grandmother is ill and couldn't leave the house much. So the little girl was always alone.


This was the first year she would participate in a big, Easter Sunday celebration in her town. Thousands of people dress up like biblical characters, the little girls like angels...and the participants get to make a 'rug' out of different color sawdust on the cobble stone streets where the parade will walk through. Her dad promised her he would help her with the drawing on the floor with sawdust...but he never showed up. They show her, the ONLY little girl working by herself on a pretty big sized rectangle on the street, carefully tracing in chalk her rendition of the crucifixion and then filling it with brightly dyed sawdust. She sat a bit on her heels, looked around for her parents, no one. She kept working all the way up to 3 a.m., and went home to sleep a bit until the celebration at 6 a.m. at church. The next morning, she looked so sad as her grandmother fixed her baby pink wings made out of real feathers, she combed her hair absent minded and headed to church.


They showed the procession starting, hundreds of girls in angel wings and robes, with pearls on their hair...and in the sea of heavenly creatures and Bible folk...the camera zoomed on those light green eyes, frantically looking for a familiar face...tears falling as she realized no one was there to see her. She pushed on, heavy steps and more tears flowing, and at the end of the parade...she looked up and a perfect, wide smile formed on her lips. The narrator says, in an excited voice: "Suddenly, she spots a familiar face in the crowd..."as the camera cuts to the object of her affection. Her grandmother, ill and barely able to walk, is standing there with a proud look on her face. I cried.


I have been there with my parents. I think we all have. Our parents aren't perfect, and they make their share of bad mistakes towards us. Sometimes, or most of the time, they are never there when we need them. Some of us have a mom and dad who've hurt us more than we deserved or could ever imagine. Some of us don't have any. But the disappointment has been felt across the board.


But in my case...I had my grandmother. She took care of me, and was at the end of my 'parade' when my parents weren't. I had the love I was missing from them, in her.


The camera cuts off as the little girl, holds grandma's hand on their way back home...her wings still on, slightly crooked. It was her parents' loss...


It was my parents' loss...


(Catch: HDTV Discovery Atlas: Brazil Revealed...It's fantastic.)

Fall is here, hear the yell...

The leaves are changing and the air is crisp, cool, even in the desert.

Holidays are on their way, memories are unrelenting as usual.

I saw my breath this morning and felt the sting in my chest at such a beautiful, breezy afternoon.

I reached for hands that weren't there. I heard laughter I'll never hear again.

My one year review at work is coming up quick, in 3 weeks. I'm nervous.

I haven't written here, because I find I have nothing to say, other than sad things you all already know.

My nightmares are getting worse, I'm sleeping less. I'm pushing. Pushing. Pushing. Receding into my own mind.

I feel like I don't want to go on anymore. Not really like harming myself...much. Just laying here, with my head resting flat against the couch's armrest. Staring at the bright screen and just closing my eyes forever.

I love fall, though. Winter, too. I wish I had more to share. Iowa was okay. Work is okay.

It's the time of year where everything gets ready to go into hiding...to fall asleep. I'm doing the same.

And in the dull, listless existence of it all... I chase the hope for good. New beginnings. The right ending. The one I deserve.

Happy fall, ya'll.

Mole

And down the rabbit hole we go.

I grip your hand tight,

neon colors, blinding light.

We pass the thorny walls,

that tear at our arms,

bloody trail.

I trip on the skulls,

fall to the ground,

they shatter under me.

You keep running.

Your footsteps fade.

I go on alone.

The tunnel, deeper,

smell of damp earth.

No more noise.

You break the surface,

gasp for fresh air.

I break my bones,

at the bottom of the pit.

Choking on my blood,

there go my ribs.

I should've had a flashlight.

Daisy, Daisy...

The last week and a half I've had your voice stuck in my head, Daisy.

There's always a funny/weird combination we've had, that are a part of my daily thoughts, Twin. But this one sort of rolls around my brain all day as of late. Not only do the words hurt, ache, and make me feel a giant void in me, but I picture the look you were giving me as you said them...

We were on our way to Fenway Park. Dave was sitting in the front w/ Alex. Shane was in the middle seat with me, all cuddled...and you were sitting in your pretty, light pink dress and pearl earrings, with a matching pink Red Sox hat in the back seat. We were all excited, but also a sense of sadness was hanging in the air. It was the night before all of us were going home again. The end of our vacation visit to you.

I was looking out the window, at the green scenery passing me by and the sun was setting. I felt this urge to turn in my seat and look at you and say so many things. But all I could manage was turning in my seat, and grabbing your hand, that was resting on the space between Shane and I. I brought it to my lips and kissed it, looking in your eyes at the exact moment you were looking back at me, tearing up. I whispered, trying to hide the knot on my throat, "I was wondering when I'm going to see you again, after tomorrow..." You nodded, your tears threatening to spill and said, in your perfect Masshole accent, "Yah, that's just what I was thinking. I'm going to miss you". You gripped my hand, and I held on to it for a little longer in the ride.

So much has changed in a year, Daisy. I'm just glad you're getting to your happy place, little by little. I'm happy you've been able to visit little bro and meet our Jewish mom. That all the struggles and uncertainty, were worth it in the end.

I'm so happy, that you get to celebrate another year you've been alive and in our lives. Because, no matter how hard someone tries to ruin you and the girls' lives, you rise above. You're super-mom and sister extraordinaire. My life and world will never be same, because you are in it and I know that I'll fall asleep next to you again someday, listening to the rain fall outside our window. I'll feel your hugs, I'll look into those amazing eyes, I'll see your skirt flowing as you walk - making you look ethereal, perfect, magical.

So while I failed at writing you your yearly Birthday poem, know that I'm laying on my couch right now, at 2:06 a.m. on your birthday and when I close my eyes, I see myself walking away from your car, at the Providence airport. I can relive it a thousand times. I walked away quickly, to avoid crying...but you called my name. I had to turn around and look at you, leaning against the driver's side, halfway in the car, yelling out: "I love you, Yaritza". I don't think you heard me, because I could only mumble back "I'll miss you". And I do, Daisy. Every day, all the time, even if I haven't showed it to you.

Have a beautiful day. Thank you for being born, for existing and for loving me. I'll see you soon, my hand misses yours.

The Ignorant, The Road Trip and

Week 2 of no sleep.

I'm meeting a lot of new people. I feel very far away from the ones that truly love me. I hope they don't hate me, for drifting away. My love for them has not diminished. I'm simply lost. I need to find my way back. Working on it.

I sometimes feel like grabbing some of you, by both shoulders and stare you dead in the eyes. To beg you to quit the act. To quit the BS and to just be yourself. It's maddening to know in my heart and in my head that you're hiding so many things, things I already know about you, yet can blatantly act like you honestly think you're that good at lying. The thing is, I wouldn't hate you or kick you out of my life, if you were simply honest. I'd appreciate the bluntness and probably stop having so many mood swings during the day. It's exhausting to have my head several times a day, point out small details or small pitfalls in your web of tales. It's tiring to play dumb, ignorant...for the sake of not losing people. So, in reality, it's not really worth it. If you have to pretend to not see things, it wasn't real from the beginning. It's not fair to either party. *shrug*

Alas, I need to realize I cannot change the world, nor the shitty people in it. I can only strive to cut down on the whining I put out and hope in the end, the true ones remain. What goes around comes around, so, there's always that to look forward to...

I'm headed to San Antonio this weekend for a girls' weekend away with Shanidy. I'm excited, nervous about meeting new friends and naturally, scared to death of getting shot. Friday I'll have lunch with her and friends, then hopefully have an awesome night checking out the scene (did I mention trying not to get shot?). Saturday, more hanging around, possibly shopping during the day, then going to catch a Twitter bud's band playing at a bar with some other Twitter folk. Should be interesting, and hopefully, I won't get shot or stabbed.

I am in love with the Droid X so far. I'm also going on a 2 week trip to Iowa again. I'll meet some Twitter folks over there too. (Seeing a pattern? I like Twitter folk, for the most part)

I'll have my laptop with me in Iowa, so maybe I'll blog a bit more of the scene from over there...you know, actually post up pictures. Plus I can blog from Droid now. Hell to the yes.

I'm so thug.

It's going to be alright.