Tuesday, March 29, 2011

To my Birthday...

With my fast approaching birthday I've been retrospective about the past years and also about the plans I made for myself as kid. It feels odd to say kid because in my head I don't feel that fast approaching thirty, but nevertheless at the age of eighteen I now realize I was in fact, a kid. 

At eighteen I was completely immersed in a four year tumultuous relationship, it was that crazy all engulfing young love that takes us and drags us into the current to be lost in hormones and promises of lasting forever. My plan at that age was to go to college, then to grad school, then apply to the FBI where I would be a criminal profiler, but I would write on the side. Before that relationship ended (one year later) I had written a story for him of how (premonition?) we would break up, but find each other ten years later (because true love is forever) where I described myself as an Adderall popping grad student finishing my masters in clinical psychology. It's been more than ten years and we did not look for each other. I am in grad school, but not for psychology, and I am not on Adderall. 


Then I thought back to five years ago and I remembered that I was completely engulfed in work. It was my hearts wish to be a buyer for Nordstrom. The job seemed completely glamorous. The idea of traveling and purchasing next seasons fashions seduced me. I was a slave to Dior, Prada, Gucci, and any other brand that the company had to offer. I was a slave. Where had psychology gone? Out the window because I realized (not really) that when you adhere so strictly to a plan you can miss opportunities. On lunch breaks I would scribble in my journal, story ideas, thoughts, vents, dreams, but I wrote. 


Then I thought back to two years ago. I was no longer seduced by Nordstrom. Fashion and shopping were my salvation from the constant 60+ hour weeks. I no longer knew what I was doing there and I viewed each new employee as a pain in the ass I would have to train. Still I smiled and nodded and feigned enthusiasm. What was I going to do? I had spent 3 years selling, training, planning, to be in a glamorous position that had now lost its glimmer. Psychology seemed so far away from me now. But writing, writing was something I had always done, so once again I planned. Planned to move to somewhere I had never been, as long as it was somewhere new, be a writer, and pursue my masters. I realize, now lucky for me, that I voiced this plan to the wrong person and it began my spiral toward realizing how unhappy I had become, quitting my job without any thought and packing my stuff to drive ten hours. 


Now a little more than a year ago, I came home (something I had steadfastly refused to do) without certainty of what the hell I was going to do. I came with my fashion, my furniture, and a journal.  A journal that had always been a staple in all of these plans, and I waited on the verdict of whether I came home to be a grad student for Creative Writing or a waitress. Suddenly the lack of thought caused me complete anxiety and I no longer viewed myself as spontaneous but as stupid. How could I have quit a career, left a boyfriend, friends who had become my family, to come home without any certainty to my future. WHAT HAPPENED TO PLANNING??


Now, I am home, trying my hand at this writer thing and I'm happy. Who would have thought? Am I good? I think, I hope. So, now more than ever as I approach this age that everyone assures me is the best decade, I realize that planning really doesn't work. There are moments when I catch myself trying to plan, trying to figure out what the hell I'm going to do. Then I have to stop reflect and remind myself that planning is like putting up blinders at times. Almost every life milestone I have tried to plan has fallen through and taken me on a different path. Would I change any of these experiences? No, without them I would not have come to these conclusions. Will things change? Most certainly. Five years from now will I read this and think I'm full of shit? Probably, but for now these are my thoughts, and I rather enjoy them. So, lets see what these thirties bring and where I end up. Worrying so much about tomorrow wastes today, and I don't want to waste anymore todays.

Friday, March 18, 2011

Green

Today I painted the porch in my backyard. It is green. I didn't pick the color. Today my horoscope said green was my lucky color. I thought I would have preferred money. Even with the heat and the sweat gathering at the base of my neck, wetting my hair,  there was something soothing about rolling the paint roller up and down against the thirsty wall. With each roll and with each song I sang out of tune to myself I could feel myself making something new. I was making the dirty beige porch new, shiny, green. I was making myself new by shedding thoughts that have been rolling around in my mind for days. I was covering them over along with the beige paint.

The sun was my heated companion burning the back of my legs, leaving my calves slightly red as if they were blushing from all the attention. My shoulders ached from stretching longer than my height, longer than my reach. My hands began to shake after hours from gripping the roller, from gripping with sweaty hands and trying to hold on. Early evening came and I began to loose my companion. I knew that it was time to say goodbye. As I finished the last edges and corners I could feel the salty trail down my tired lower back. I could feel my bicep burning from the holding the weight of green paint can. And just before the sun dipped completely behind the mountain I looked at what I had accomplished. The porch was shadowed and looked a darker green, but it was shiny, new, and I had done it. Today my horoscope said green was my lucky color.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

dream

I had a dream last night where I stood in the center of a tornado. And although it sounds chaotic because I was in the middle there was the calmness of being in the eye. I could see things, random objects, a tree, a red truck, birds, swirling around me floating and I wanted to reach out touch the quickly spinning air because it seemed like a wall. A moving living wall. Instead of feeling a panic, I felt the same calmness of the eye. Calmness and a curiosity. I stood right arm outstretched fingers seconds away from the swirling air, then I woke up.

Saturday, March 5, 2011

The Box

under my bed i used to have a shoe box. a box filled with letters and pictures, mementos really of someone. someone i could fit into a box. letters filled with words like "i'm sorry", "i love you", "please forgive me", "i love you". letters filled with nothing and everything. pictures that started out with bright smiles and kisses. pictures i took to capture my happiness because i hoped when i looked at them later i would remember how happy i was. pictures where smiles were dim and comfortable. pictures i took that unknowingly captured how my happiness had faded.

eventually i threw away all the "i'm sorries" and kept the "i love you's". i love you's are always more pleasant to remember.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Non-traditional sonnet

homework how you made me laugh...

Robot Affliction

Kiss kiss smack me on the lips
Tangled thoughts and deciphered conversation
I thought this shit was supposed to cause me bliss
I think Morse Code would work better than these incantations

Robot one to Robot two do you read me?
No I didn’t think so.
This Tin Man existence seems more cowardly than that lions.
A brain does a lot but a heart seems worth trying.

Robot one to Robot two do you read me?
I sent smoke signals with my cigarette but I haven’t heard back.
I tried to say hello but I think I spelled go.
And now, I’ve finished my pack. 

Robot two to Robot one do you read me?
Come in Robot One.