Dissapointments and Fantasies

So yesterday began with the anticipation that later on that evening I would be attending my very first concert. Now how has such a music afficiando as myself lived to be 27 without ever having gone to a concert, you might ask. Simple, grow up in Sierra Vista where nothing exciting ever happens, and you're broke all the time. So this concert was to be my first, and was presented to me by my 16-year-old roommate (in spirit), Cheryl. She burst into my room on Wednesday night all a glow with excitement, her flush and giddy anticipation making her positively irrisistable. "Okay! You wanna go to a Backstreet Boys concert with me on Friday?!" That's right my friends, she said Backstreet Boys. I looked at her incredulously and she continued her proposal speedily as if to silence my refusal with her rush of words. "They're amazing seats and it's only $50! C'mon!" I felt her excitement begin to settle on me like the adreneline pumped frenetic delirium of a really good roller coaster. So I accepted her invitation and spent the day yesterday planning my outfit, applying fake nails, carefully attatching my hair extentions (realizing how much of me is fake with a small measure of chagrin, and subsequently shrugging it off, because the end outcome is so worth it), and listening to as much Backstreet Boys as I could to get in the groove. Two hours before the concert was scheduled to begin and half an hour before we planned to leave the house, we got news that the concert was CANCELLED! And so there I sat at the crest of the tallest drop of my roller coaster-stuck. However all was not lost. For what should be premiering that night but what was sure to be the sexist, most tempting, daring, fantasy catching, and let's admit, cheesiest movie of the year. But of course, I'm talking about Twilight. Our dissapointment over missing out on the musical stylizations and gyrations of the Backstreet not-so-much-Boys-any-longer, was numbed at the the chance to watch the sexy and erotic tale of the Cold-One and his extraordinarily common-place lover. And we were off! And did it live up to the hype? In my estimation, yes! Edward oozed sensuality, brooding discontentment, and one irrisistable come hither stare after another. And his kiss skyrocketed up the hottness charts, nearly melting the film reel, and certainly melting me on my seat. And so though, the night may have started with dissapointment, it ended with fantasies.

I Am

I am a lover of the arts who delights in the asthetically pleasing joys of the world from good music that swells in my soul to great food that delicously swells my stomach.

I am a believer by nature who will catch the spirit of an idea, a legend, a story, a song, a volume of scripture, and be inspired by it.

I am a woman hurt, who has had better luck finding ladybugs in the grass than finding a good man.

I am the daughter of a girl who has always seen me as her emotional giant and spiritual predeccesor.

I am a sister of four uniquely gifted women; each of which have taught me great lessons.

I am haunted by fear of losing love before I find it.

Time to Clear the Clutter.

So the other night I had a remarkably vivid dream. There are dreams that are murky and convoluted; the kind that leave you in a fog when you wake up. And then there are the less common dreams that are so sharply focused that the colors in them seem brighter than anything you've ever seen in life, and you wake up exhausted from the sheer energy of them. That's the kind of dream I had, and it turned out to be very symbolic. In this dream, there was an extra room in our house that was completely empty. It was a living room, and for some reason it had been ignored and neglected by everyone up till then. Stranger still, was the fact that our other living room was so cluttered by furniture and fixtures that there was barely enough room to stand in it. So the dream consisted of me heaving and grunting while I pushed and pulled and lifted one item of furniture after another from the overly stuffed living room to the empty one. I ended up making both rooms cozy, beautiful, and each with a character all its own. And now people loved both rooms. I was exhausted when I woke up, but extremely satisfied. And the meaning of the dream hit me with an incredible force. I have an empty space in my life that has been neglected, and I've been waiting for someone to come fill that space. At the same time, I have so much clutter; so much excess that I just haven't prioritized and put in its proper place. But I can't just sit around in the clutter and wait for someone to rescue me, and fill my empty space. I have to stop neglecting myself, put things in order, and make every space beautiful, before expecting anyone else to feel at home in any of my spaces.

Haaaa!!! Simbangawa Eona Zii Teiabowa Heyahayeah!!

So, last night was Sabrina's birthday party, and it was a lot of toilet paper talk, tickling on the couch, tiny pieces of birthday cake, overt flirting, musical cards, a pregnancy announcement, and music video planning. Sabrina had wanted to do music videos with all us roommates most. She's been wanting to do it forever, and decided her birthday would be a perfect time. However, the plan was thwarted by too many people in our house, but she and I got to talking about it while sitting at the kitchen table. And Cheryl had the brilliant idea that we do the Lion King song. This is brilliant, because nobody knows the words to that song, at least not the beginning, which just sounds like a bunch of mumbling tribal chant. But wouldn't that be funny to have us all on video trying to fake our way through that part? I used to know it though, because I sang it in middle school choir, and so did Sabrina. So we were discussing this, and I said that the sheet music had all that written down, and I remembered a part of it. "All of it?" Cheryl asked me. I told her I remembered the chant. The part that goes, "Himaya manlingwana bana, but not the beginning" And then it just flowed off my tongue, sounding somewhat Chinese, "Haaaa!!! Simbangawa, eona zii teiabowa heyahayeah." I had no idea this would be so funny, but Cheryl and Sabrina got a good laugh out of it, and I'm hoping that we really do eventually do the music videos. Complete with costumes and choreography.

Almost a Year

It's been almost a year. That, of itself, is hard to believe. Why does everyone say that time heals everything? Surely there are some things for which time, is an inadequate physician. I think we only hear that over and over, because no one is willing to admit to any one, least of all themselves, that in the quiet moments, in the fragments of memory sparked by every day mundane images or sounds....smells; there is pain that still resides no matter how much time has passed or what we've done to mask it. It comes in shock waves when you least expect it. It takes your breath away, and for a split second it's as if not a moment has passed since your heart broke. I believe that those who have most successfully managed to dull their pain, almost to the point of immunity, did it without time having anything to do with it. Those fortunate people, those blessed and kissed by the Grace of God, found something to replace it with. The fact is that pain takes up a space in your soul. The rememdy is to replace it with something. But what? Not time. Time is nothing. It is not motion, it is not physical, it is not even empty space.
It's been almost a year, and my heart still throbs, my body still aches, and my spirit still feels severed. I know what can replace it. I just don't know how to do it.

Here We Go Again

Well, I quit my job as a server at the Outback a year and a half ago, in pursuit of a better job, one that didn't require "flair", an apron, latex gloves, slip proof shoes, and an endless supply of pens. Since then I've been a travel agent, a panty pusher (Victoria's Secret), and an Enrollment Counselor. But as of about a week ago my life came full circle and I've once again donned the slip proof shoes and the apron, and I've begun my new life-er, recycled life-as a server. The only difference is that now instead of serving plates of beef, beef, and more beef, I'll be serving plates of fish, lobster, and crab at The Red Lobster. It's hard to say how I feel at this point. Part of me is happy to be doing such straightforward work. It's simple, and I know it in and out. And another part of me feels deflated to be back in this place. You know, the place where someone new you meet asks what you do and you shift in your seat and look down at the floor and mumble "I'm a waitress", hoping they hear something else maybe like, "I'm a massage therapist," or , "I teach underprivelegded kids, " or "I'm a pharmacist." ....anything else really. There shouldn't be any shame in it. It's hard work, it's honest work, and it pays well if you're good, but it makes me feel like I'm ten years behind schedule in my life.

Sweet Downpour

I slept like a baby last night because the sky was going crazy. Ever since I was a little girl I have adored the monsoons. I'm sure if I lived in Florida I'd feel differently, but in Arizona they are a blessed relief from the holy hellah hot of the sun. And every monsoon season I'm reminded of the one storm that will forever live in infamy in my family. The one that should have scared us to death, but for some reason only succeeded in making us laugh hysterically....for years.
When I was about eleven there was a particularily intense storm raging in my hometown that ended up becoming the stuff of legend in my house at least. Two of my sisters and I were standing at the kitchen sink and looking out the window at the sheets of rain that dumped onto the earth one after the other with relentless carelessness. We watched tree limbs snap under the pressure and tumble to the ground only to be swept away by the current of the newly formed river in the street. My mother and two other sisters sat in the living room. She told us to get away from the window, but we were transfixed. Lightning flashed over us like it was keeping rythm to a punk rock song stuck in God's head. Not to be outdone, the thunder crashed almost simultaneously with each flash, and so it went on with the lightning and the thunder like two petulant children wrecking havoc in the sky to get a bit of attention. The kitchen sink that we stood over was made of stainless steel, and a few times ,when the lightning flashed, we hovered our fingers over it and watched the little blue sparks that jumped from the steel to our fingers with a tiny tingling buzz. Once it was strong enough to give us not only a buzz but a jolt. We stopped then, realizing it was a risk even if we weren't actually touching the steel.
Little did we know that our father was having his own viewing party in the back of the house. It was about twenty minutes later that he emerged from his bedroom, bathrobe swathed about him crookedly, hair standing on end, eyes bloodshot, and his breath wheezing and uncontrolled. He was a terrifyingly hysterical sight. "I .......co-ould.....hav-have......died-d." His teeth rattled as he spoke and he pointed a shaky finger at all of us accusingly. When we stared at him uncomprehendingly he said it again, this time a little more clearly, "I....could....have....DIED!" My mother, seeming to finally grasp the severity of the situation jumped up from the couch and grabbed his hand to lead him to a seat and recieved a healthy jolt through her hand for the effort. After about half an hour his breathing had regulated, the storm still raged and he was able to tell us what had happened. He'd been standing in the master bathroom getting ready to take a shower (idiot) and decided to watch the storm for a minute from the window, butt naked (idiot), with his hand resting on the metal towel rack (idiot). Well, he got transfixed just like we did and a few minutes later the flash that had jolted our fingers over the kitchen sink, had actually struck the telephone pole in the alley behind our house, the wire of which goes right over his bathroom. The lightning rod had split the telephone pole into a million splinters, traveled through the wires wich fell onto the roof of the house, where my dad caught the tail end of the current through his hand resting on the towel rack, and it laid him out cold. Unconscious, naked, electrocuted, helpless. He was right. He could have died. But he didn't. He came around, and tried screaming for help, since he was still paralyzed, but no one heard him, because not only was his voice barely a whisper, but the thunder still boomed over us. It took him about 15 minutes to regain the strength enough to come out and accuse us of leaving him to his death (idiot). Ah, I love my dad. And we will never let him forget that storm.

Memories

1. Leave one memory that you and I had together, as a comment on my blog. It doesn't matter if you know me a little or a lot, anything you remember!

2. Next, re-post these instructions on your blog and see how many people leave a memory about you. It's actually pretty funny to see the responses. If you leave a memory about me, I'll assume you're playing the game and I'll come to your blog and leave one about you. Have a nice little trip down memory lane!

Winter

I miss the winter. I can still feel the biting grip it had on me, but it was beautiful. I stood on an untouched blanket of sparkling white snow, dazzled by the beauty. The morning was absolutely still, as if the city was dead, yet I could still feel it breathing with the crunch of the snow under my feet. The sky was a piercing blue overhead, almost too bright to look at, and every tiny little branch of every tree was coated in the crystal of the morning dew. Though the sun caressed everything it touched that morning, it was powerless against those crystals. With prismatic uniformity they each gave off a perfect rainbow of color as my eyes shifted from branch to branch.
Yes, I miss the winter.

The night carried with it, its own spell. Each star hung low in the sky, flirtingly begging to be touched, and yet flitting just out of grasp with a wink. The snow shone silver and luminous under the light of the moon, and someone had decided to reverence the winter in their own way one night. At the crest of a gentle hill I saw a glowing pulse under the snow. It was warm and bright, illuminating the spot as if it were the footprint of God. Coming closer, intrigued beyond measure, I found it's source....four tealight candles had been buried three inches into the snow in a circle, and lit. The wind could not touch them, and they had only enough strength to melt the snow over their flames, and I marveled at the stranger who had been so whimisical, so generous, to leave them there for someone; anyone to find.
Yes, I miss the winter.

Alone

How alone I feel on this,
Vastly desolate bed.
How less alive can I feel
When I'm not yet dead?

How cruel were the stars,
Beauty in the sky tonight.
How oblivious they laughed
Shining down on my plight.

How peculiar to feel nothing,
At this climactic end.
How desperate to find you,
Save me my old friend.

Growing Up

It's easy to dream big when the world you see every day is all hazed over by the bright colors of naive youth. Before your first heartbreak, before you've let yourself down, when the biggest thing you had to look forward to was Summer Break, when you still believed everything you saw in fairytales; it was easy then. Who knew so much could change?

Anyway....to start things off, I'd like to say welcome, and no, I won't always be so morose. But this is it. This is the time in my life when that bright colored naive haze has been stripped away. This is after my heart has experienced break after unbearable break (sometimes of my own doing), the time when I'm scared to trust myself anymore, and the time when every fairytale is nothing but farce. I remember my big dreams, and I remember them fondly. Part of me still believes there is hope for those dreams, and that I can still make something out of the train wreck that stares back at me in the mirror, and it's that part of me that I'm inviting you all to journey with. No doubt I'll crash and bump and stumble and whine and break a few more times along the way, but there will also be laughter with every bruise, singing with every tear, and excitement after every fall. So sit back and hold tight!