And then. . .

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 ye...

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...

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.

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.

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.

how many different kinds of laughs are there? i know that i can laugh a fake laugh at almost anything. i have a nervous "what is going on here laugh" and then i have a "this really isn't funny but i'll show some teeth and giggle to appease this not funny person." i learned how to be good at this laugh. there is my real laugh that is loud and unladylike. it comes out like a surprised bark and my mouth opens wide all my teeth show and anyone can see my tongue pulsing to the beat of my laughter. i laugh from the deep fissures of my belly and i snort sometimes but this feels good. sometimes i laugh so hard tears are squeezed out of my tightly squeezed eyes and i laugh so hard it hurts.  this laughter has been with me since the beginning. in between these laughters i have many variations. i have the laughs that i've laughed at moments i didn't think i would ever laugh. the laughter i laughed bemusedly sorting through my grandma's belongings, the...

The idea of touch has been fascinating me recently. How much we touch, how much we are touched,  how often we refrain, even when our hand is about to reach out and we stop. Its odd because sometimes what can be said in touch is simply muddled with words. I have never liked to be touched. Its difficult for me to accept new people into my space and it creates this unease within me that I can't quite explain. For me touch is something you have to get to know, have to be comfortable with, a small pat on the arm is earned because a trust is developed. I have cuddling friends and we got to that point because we are just that close, but it takes time. A comfort that evolves just as anything else. A hand on the small of your back that guides you through the room. A consoling pat on the thigh. Fingers intertwined briefly in a conversation. A burst of excitement as two palms slap in a high-five. A leg that rests gently against yours under the table... So, I suppose this is my ode to touch....