And then. . .

The things about friends is that, well, it's complicated. Family can drive you crazy, but you can't get rid of them. You can say mean, low, evil things, (as can they) and usually, they'll forgive you, at least after while. When it comes down to it, at least in my case, you fight and love with a passion, because as the saying goes, blood is thicker than water. With friends, there doesn't seem to be the same weight, I suppose. Because you can get rid of them, you can say mean, low, evil things, and they don't have to forgive you (or you them), and friends break apart, grow, and drift away like icebergs from one another. Although friends are the family you get to pick, sometimes it's best to let them go (or them you), because as in a romantic relationship, in order for it to work you both have to make an effort. I'm blessed with having many great friends in my life, the kind who drink away heartbreaks with you and let you cry till there's no more tear...

This summer has been hard, bumpy, and filled with a kaleidoscope of emotions: tired, grumpy, angry, embarrassed, shame, self-doubt, happy, confident, relief, loved...when everything seems to be shifting, the world feels like the proverbial earthquake, and you feel like you can't find steady ground, it's important to remember change can't be controlled, forced, hurried, slowed down, it comes when it comes and forcing just makes everything along the way a little harder and a lot less sweet, a plump peach with no flavor. Along the bumpy road it's important to remember: You can't make everyone happy. Sometimes it's hard enough just making yourself happy. Running away means you'll just have to deal with it later. Smiling all the time is tiring; sometimes you just need to be. The people you have in your life, the ones that matter, won't always be there, enjoy them. It's okay to be comfortable, sometimes what we need is comfort, I'm writing thi...

Yesterday I submitted a story for a contest. As I typed in my credit card information for the entry fee. I said a prayer over and over in my mind, "Please God let me win something. Please God let me win something." After the culmination of days and months rolling down a hill and snowballing into years without stepping foot into a church, my Catholic upbringing of spending every Sunday on a hard wooden pew with my grandma Ita, has not left me. I sat in a noisy coffee shop quickly rereading a story, I've read 100 times, one more time to make sure it was really ready to send out. I attached it quickly to the email, exhaled, let my fingers hover over the keys and finally hit enter, sending a piece of my heart into cyber space for someone to look over, read, and hopefully connect with it. The heart of a writer is both tender and calloused. We pour pieces of ourselves out onto paper for people to judge. Perhaps I should say the heart of the artist, but I can't think ...

Three years ago I transitioned from saying, "I'm a Department Manager at Nordstrom," to "I'm in Grad school." Each time I said it I felt a little less naked, careerless. A year in, I took a trip to London, and in getting to know two people I'm now lucky to call friends, I was asked what I was going to do. "I'm a writer. I want to write," I replied. The words were still new to my mouth, sticky like caramel, resistant to dissolve and sticking to the back of my throat. I imagined the stickiness in my words wasn't apparent as I chewed them out. Three years have passed and I'm now left with the label, "I'm a writer," and I find that this is one of the labels I've enjoyed the most. I want to wrap myself in all its letters and cozy into them like an over-sized blanket. I want to knit the multi-colored blanket larger with my own words and stories until I'm completely surrounded by them. I want to breath and live wi...

Hardcover, paperback, wrinkled corners and cracked spines. In an age of e-readers, smaller screens, quicker reading... well,                            I don't want quicker, I want to sit back ankles resting against one another, book opened to a perfect 45 degree angle as not to break the spine, and                                          breathe                                                 the                                                       words                            ...

The thing about waiting, for anything, whether in a line at the 24-hour Walgreens or the drive-thru at Starbuck's waiting for your morning Skinny Mocha, is that, well it sucks. No one likes to wait in lines, and in a world where we can do multiple things at once at all times and post how we're feeling to the world in seconds, the waiting seems worse. It seems like, well, we're waiting that much longer. We're standing behind the guy with a shaved head and tattoo's who's moist pasty skin rolls peak out from the rolled edges of his cut dingy t-shirt waiting to get the birth control that will keep us from having his three noisy kids that keep grabbing the bottles of vitamins off the shelves as ten people stand in line try not to stare at the kids like they are monsters.  It's also sitting in our cars Tweeting, Facebooking, Google +ing, Instagraming, What's Apping, all about coffee, then wrinkling ours noses as we notice we forgot to hit the re-circulation ...

Yesterday I went for a walk in downtown El Paso. The older part where they are trying to turn the hood into a postcard where everyone is smiling brightly and sunlight reflects off chemically whitened teeth.  I won't get into how I feel about parts of it: disappointed and choked with things being forced down my throat as the city officials place their hands on the back of my head. Or how I feel about the other part of it: nostalgic with it's restored beauty and I remember my childhood, clasping my grandmother's sweaty palm as we walked the downtown streets. As I walked by Firefighters Memorial Park, a small corner hidden behind tall buildings and homes, I snapped some photos. The sun was bright and unforgiving--it must be called that in El Paso because it's the best description--but I still wanted to look around and get close to the vintage light posts which have replaced the tainted silver ones that used to be there. Beads of sweat were already beginning to surface ...