The sun is settin' like molasses in the sky

The face I still make when I am angry

When I was younger, my mother was my world. She was the person I thought could do no wrong. I saw the drugs, the alcohol, and the absences for days at a time. I did not register them as faults but personality traits. They were who she was. They were not bad. Nothing she did was bad.

I had this rose-colored image of her that I wasn’t able to shake until around age twenty. For twenty years I watched and allowed my heart to be let down time and time again just waiting for the moment when I would finally have a mother. Like a puppy, waiting by the door I diligently sat craving her love and attention. If that was just part of who she was, why did I have to feel so empty on nights when she was gone? To say I have abandonment issues would be an understatement.

Last week, my mother was arrested. When my brother told me the news, I stared blankly for a moment. I did not ask why. My brain automatically assigned my feelings to resignation and lack of interest. Another flaw in her personality. But I felt my jaw clench momentarily with anger.

When I thought about my reaction later, after learning why it brought an incredible sense of sadness back to me. Sadness I thought was long ago buried. I know that it will never fully be buried. I know that I will never fully accept the fact that my mother is not a part of my life and hasn’t been for quite some time now.

Nevertheless every now and then when I smell fried eggs the child within me yearns to be seated at the counter with my mother, dipping toast into eggs over medium and watching the yolk, like lava envelope the plate. Like a flashbulb memory I can smell the stale smoke and day-old Tresor perfume. Suddenly I can feel myself smiling unknowingly and I long to pick up the phone and tell her about my day. It takes everything in me to shove those emotions back and remember why not having her in my life is better.

I am no longer that mousy blonde child whose eyes peered through the diamond shape window of my bedroom waiting for the head lights of my mother’s car to appear after her absence. Instead I am an adult, with an incredibly large hole inside of me, wondering how I will fill the void and find acceptance.

Waiting to find peace. 

You can only lose what you cling to. - Buddah

Yes it's true, loneliness took me for a ride

I got a massage yesterday because my back has been bothering me a bit over the past week, and I remembered that when I was doing regular massages, my body hated me a little less. Anyway, this was my first time having a guy actually massage my back in a professional manner.

So let’s first talk about the anxiety I had about stripping down to my underwear and exposing my back in all its naked and fat roll glory to a man I didn’t really know. That’s really it. High anxiety and insecurity. But I did it, and the massage was amazing, painful, but amazing. Working through the stress knots in my shoulders and the tension in my lower back that was already sore was exactly what my back needed.

But then halfway through the massage he gently takes one arm out from under my head that I had propped myself up on, because my boobs will never allow me to actually use that horse shoe face holder they have. Anyway, he’s got my arm in his hands hanging down below the table and he gently slides his hands down until the tips of his fingers graze the lower palms of my hands near my wrist and I realize how much I miss human touch.

It has been so long since someone has held my hand, touched my face, felt someone’s arms around me. And I have to say of all the things to miss about being in a relationship, this is what I miss most.
I’m writing about it because I was almost taken back by his hands grazing mine that I almost burst in to tears on the spot. Thankfully he bumped the wall with his chair and caused me to laugh instead.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m okay.”

No, that's not true. I’m lonely.

Thinking outloud

I love when I read a book that as a writer causes me to think about the little details in my life. It's refreshing because if you ask me how I am doing, I will give an automatic response of something along the lines of "Same ol same ol." or "Just working." But there is a lot more to my day that goes unrecognized when you just don't take the time to think about it.

Its simple things like turning the page of a book you are reading and slowly letting your mind devour the words on the next page. Its something you often overlook and don't think about but it truly is more than "same ol" stuff because you are enriching your mind and traveling away from your own space into another.

My days are consumed with work, reports, calls, discussions and issues. And then I get to go home and feel the albeit hot wind on my face, the sunlight on my skin and the knowledge that I am alive. I am able to greet my dog with love and watch her rejoice at my home coming. I'm able to feel the softness of my cat's fur as she rubs her face against my hand for affection and feel the love from these animals.

Life is busy. It's complicated. And finding a book that puts details into daily activities makes me remember to put the details back into my life and remember that I am alive. And I am somebody.

Also... I'm back - Ish.

Sitting in the Hall of Fame and the world's gonna know your name.

Yesterday I took my roommate's 88-year-old aunt to the pharmacy to pick up her medication. Before dropping her off in front of her house, she left me with some sage advice.

"Don't get old," she said.

"I don't think I can avoid it," I returned. I don't think anyone can avoid that. Age comes for all of us.

Then I thought, perhaps what she really meant was, never let go of your childlike innocence and lust for adventure. As long as you hold on to those things, you'll never get old. So I promise, Aunt Dodo, I'll never get old.

But dreams come slow and they go so fast...

"You need to write again, you haven't really written anything for a while," she says. "Well you've written some things, but nothing like you used to.

"Yeah, I know. I haven't had the inspiration or the time to look within myself to find the answers. Just kind of blah things here and there," I say. "I'll write again when I can no longer afford to go to school, which is coming up here quickly. Then my life can return to normal again."

And I can’t even remember what normal means anymore. I just get up and press through everyday life things. Wake up, shower, go to work, come home, and do some homework. Somewhere in-between the monotony I manage to connect with friends for the few fleeting moments of happiness that I feel. Like, a shared drink or conversation around microphones about tentacles and fur piles that no one will really ever understand.

My life has kept a steady pace and I’m not really concerned about it flat lining. But I want to go back to the fast pace heart beat that makes days string into one-another. Then I’ll look back and think, man this really was the best time of my life. And I want the rest of my life to be like that. Unfiltered and unwavering. But I suppose that’s how everyone views life; we all want to live a life that is so exhausting and full that by the end of it, we’re happy for the moment of sleep that will creep into our minds eternally.

And perhaps once my life returns to normal, maybe then I’ll be able to find the motivation to write.

Tear the World Down

Conflicting seems to be the human affliction. What’s right or wrong, good or bad pants or no pants, love or no love. We struggle with these things daily.

So there’s a good guy there, the “bad” guy here and I have this constant need for instant gratification. I want to be loved and touched and felt. I want to love, touch and feel. But the ones that I want seem to be so far out of my reach. The guy who stole my heart with words and the electrifying way he kissed. The good guy who stole my heart with warmth and kindness. Make the best decision. I hear it over and over.

But when neither are choices I can make, because neither can touch me, feel me or love me. The choice I make seems to be the wrong one.

Find someone to fill me up, hold me close. Someone who can touch me and feel me, but never love me. Empty spaces filled momentarily so that I don’t feel so alone. Is this the choice I should be making?

Can anyone love me, feel me, hold me and touch me?

things changed, and that's the way it is

I’m sitting on the couch in the living room at my brother’s house listening to the rabbit hastily drink water. And I think about all the time I’ve wasted running away from Tucson because when I drive it now, It’s not filled with the pain, the anger or frustration. It’s filled with the memories of my youth. Because now, when I see the Catalina Mountains they seem to stand taller than I remember. The shadows created by the sun seem darker and more mysterious.

When I see them as I drive closer to a family members house, I stare at them. Connecting them with the memories of my younger years, but they seem so foreign to me now. And I know, that I am the only thing that’s changed.