Where are you christmas?

Small boy: “Do You think Santa uses the post office?”
Mother: “It’s very possible.”

I smiled when I heard this as I was packaging my letter to be sent out at the post office today thinking back to my earliest memory of Christmas.

I was young enough to still believe in Santa and my grandparents were driving my siblings and I back to my mother’s house after the family party, an annual event in which many of my cousins gathered enjoyed Santa for the younger ones, and the White Elephant party for the adults. I was hopped up on sugar and wide-eyed starring out the window hoping to see Santa in the night’s sky. A shooting star passed across the sky and I remember someone saying to me “That was Santa passing by,” and my little heart filled with such excitement.

Christmas as a child was always delightfully filled with gifts and new “pretty” things. It was filled with wonder and joy. I am thankful for the dedication my grandparents put in to making sure we didn’t “go without” each Christmas. But somewhere along the line we lose the sparkle and no longer hear the “ringing” of Santa’s sleigh bells.

Sometimes I wish Christmas held the same joy it did for me as a child, even now I look back, as a teenager, Christmas was stressful, and often resulted in my crying. And yet, it’s something that I cannot live without.

In my teenage years I hated Christmas Eve the most. It was a stressful time for my grandmother and I’m sure even more difficult with new “Christmas outfits” to be had, and brats to be herded on top of the usual cooking requirements (My grandma insisted on making a main dish, a roast, a ham or something of the sort.)

More so it was a time when I wanted to do nothing but was expected to do a lot more. I resented the fact that my sister was able to shout and scream her way out of things, and in my own attempts and bad mouth, I often buried myself deeper. In retrospect, the easiest thing would have been to oblige to orders and demands, but I fought tooth and nail. This flustered my grandma and more often than not I was blamed for “ruining Christmas.” And then with this on my conscious and often reddened cheeks from crying I had to put on my “family” face and pretend everything was peachy. This made me even angrier.

So I began to resent it.

Christmas wasn’t happy for me and as a teenager, I wished it never happened. In some ways, as an adult I still don’t like it. I enjoy buying gifts for the few children in my life (Nephews, friend’s children, The Star Wars Kids) and even for close friends or roommates, but inside my heart I’m still cold and “Grinch-y.”

I don’t even like decorating for Christmas, it’s a chore, nothing pleasant – and yet this year, I helped my Aunt Decorate her tree and ended up decorating the tree Daniel begged for us to have. Sure, it didn’t hold the same Christmas stress that I remember as a child/teenager/young adult with my grandmother’s particular taste and need for order.

But I’ll be damned if I don’t make some Christmas cookies this year, maybe that will get me in the “mood.”

Or maybe I should just spike my eggnog and call it a night.

Make me feel unpretty too.

Sometimes I don’t feel pretty enough for my boyfriend. I look at him, and then I look around me and mentally pair him with other girls I think he should be with. My bouts with low self-esteem sometimes can catch me off guard.

Now here we are and I'm suddenly standing at the beginning

I’ve made an executive decision to spend Christmas this year in my home in New Jersey rather than go to Arizona for Christmas. I made this decision for financial reasons mostly and I have mixed feelings about the decision. I can say I am mostly content with my decision, despite not being able to see friends and family.

Things have definitely changed these past few Christmas’s and just when I was starting to enjoy the idea of family and getting together, my world got turned upside down and my grandmother passed away. Christmas isn’t the same anymore.
The only tradition that seemed to be staying the same was the Annual Christmas Eve party where my cousins and I gathered. It was a family reunion of sorts and I was finally finding myself belonging there. But, things change. People get older, families grow, and people pass on.

Who knew my grandmother dying would be such a crucial turning point in my life. For me it can be compared to the JFK assassination or 9/11 attacks. I remember the exact place I was when I got the phone call from my sister. I remember the inexplicable sobs that came from me, the gasps of air, having been emotionally socked in the stomach and unable to breathe.

No, Christmas isn’t the same. So maybe it’s time for me to try something new. I will get a tree, set it up in my own house and decorate it with the handful of decorations taken from my grandmother’s collection. I will breathe deeply and try to remember that new traditions aren’t always bad.

But at least I have Thanksgiving with family still. I am making my 2nd Annual drive to Michigan to spend the holiday with my Aunt Kathleen, Uncle Richard, and hopefully my sister. I also get to introduce some of my family to the man who’s been lighting up my world.

I have to remember, last year Thanksgiving in Michigan was a new tradition, and last year was perfect.

Hello, I'm the lie, living for you so you can hide...

Sometimes I feel like I’m overwhelming to people. Like I push too hard on others my expectation in life.

So I was instilled with this desire to be all that you can be (sans army). I can never accept mediocrity and perhaps that’s why when my boyfriend suggests a new game to me, I stare blankly, pat him on the head mentally and then nod and smile.

To me games consist of such lame mediocrity to my brain waves. Perhaps its this self-diagnosed ADD that makes me sit for five minutes on a game then move on to something else. Maybe they’re just not “my thing” and that’s all right isn’t it?

But I did take a leap of faith and jump into a game to find some slight common ground, to open a window to see through his eyes instead. I actually found it interesting. Okay, the characters were ugly, and it wasn’t really like dressing up my Barbie in all sorts of glamour outfits, but it did distract me from the task at hand for a few hours, enough to say I enjoy it, but not enough to dive into other games similar or completely opposite from them.

So I smile at Daniel, I roll my eyes and make a sarcastic-joke-like comment when he tells me about a new game. And then I set expectations on him.

“If I smile and don't believe, soon I know I'll wake from this dream."

I confess I have this need to keep moving, keep pressing forward for fear of sinking. For fear of falling and not getting back up. And sometimes I get angry at how content he is to be in the now. To be here. To just do what he wants for that moment in time, because I’m so desperately trying to figure out the next move.

~*~*~

When my cousins were visiting New York the past week, I noticed that I would bring up my siblings in a nostalgic way, like I was trying to prove my love for them. It was my own attempt to say, “Hey, remember the old Jennie? She’s gone now, see?” I think everyone looks at me as the person I was before, and that bothers me. It bothers me that around cousins, I can’t feel comfortable in my own skin, like I have something to prove.

~*~*~

I focus so much on others, so I don’t have to worry about me. And then I desperately try to show to people I’ve changed. And I have, quite a bit – but I’m still insecure, I’m still desperately trying to be loved, and I’m still struggling to figure out whether I’m happy with who I am and what I look like, or if I want to look like someone else and lose who I think I am. I’m too scared to face what’s in front of me, for fear that the center cannot hold, and that I will have to fall again, to be able to get back up. And so that I can remain true to the fact that for years the line “Don’t try to fix me, I’m not broken” from Evanescence’s song Hello, was my mantra for life. To desperately be fine, to be okay.

And then mentally, I’m at a cross roads where I’m waiting for this big change. Where I want to progress forward and find myself ignoring the stubbornness of my youth where marriage and kids was a disgusting thought. I do want kids. I do want a marriage. But I fear that I am not fit to be a parent. I fear that my personality traits and genetic factors will make me a terrible wife and mother.

I’m scattered.

But lately I want to move forward with my life. I’m ready to take the next steps. To progress, so maybe that’s why I’m pushing for Daniel to move in with me, and to get him back into school.

Because I want something more than what I have now.

I always look toward the future. Pretty soon tomorrow will be here, today will be over and I’ll wonder and regret what I could have done yesterday.

"Suddenly I know I'm not sleeping, hello, I'm still here, all that's left of yesterday."

Big wheel keep on turnin'...

Why do I always seem to think of clever little bits to write about while driving? It’s completely the most inappropriate time because I have nothing to write with and it’s completely unsafe. Perhaps I should get a memo recorder and record things as they come to me. Or maybe what I have to say isn’t that important and the fact that I can’t remember it should be reference to just that. I just know that something will happen and my brain will spin this web of words and I will think “I need to remember this moment. “

It’s probably old age.

My life has been dragging along – not without its highs and not without its lows. I am content with what’s been happening. I’m incredibly exhausted from the incredibly full load of classes and work that I’ve taken on. But I feel good about where I’m going and that’s good.

I haven’t anything insightful to reflect on and perhaps I felt like I owed it to someone to post something. It’s part of this self-importance feel I need to fill.

Now I find I've changed my mind and opened up the doors.

My Aunt was never too easy on me. She demanded a certain amount of respect and expected that we [my siblings and I] maintain a level of integrity and responsibility for our actions. Not once did she buy into the fact that our lives were a little tougher than most. She had sympathy for our situation, but never allowed us to be defined by it in her eyes. Our situation was unfortunate, but it did not classify us.

More importantly, she was always the first to tell me when I was acting like an ass hole; of course she never used those words. And she was also the first to compliment me for a job well done.

Kathleen taught me a lot of important things like how to set a table, make cookies, sit up straight, and brush my hair. And no matter how mad I got at her, or how much I felt betrayed, she always remained my hero. It was her and my grandmother’s approval that meant the most. And where my grandmother faulted in praise, Kathleen was quick to pick up the slack. She was the person who I looked to and said “yeah, that’s how I want to live.” She was the person I wanted to emulate, but constantly struggled with the person I was and the fact that sometimes, nature overpowers nurture. And boy did she try and nurture me. I guess really, I’m just a little slow on the uptake. Repeat it enough times and eventually, I do get it.

So how do you repay someone who you owe so much to?

I look at the struggles of people close to me and I see them making the same mistakes that I did/do and sometimes I want to quit and walk out, but What Would Kathleen Do? – She certainly never quit, and lord knows she could have.
So I ‘Pay it Forward’ and hope that one day, I can help someone even half as much as Kathleen, my grandmother, my godmother, my friends, my cousins, my teachers, and my siblings have helped me.

2010 has continued in the footsteps of 2009, it’s made me incredibly humble and thankful for those who have contributed to where I am now, to the decisions I have made, and the plans that I have for myself.

I want to save the world, so I’m starting with myself.

I am trying to expect nothing, hope for everything, and remind myself to be thankful for what I have, even when the clouds seem to roll in.

All the right friends in all the wrong places

“I know we've got it good but they got it made and the grass is getting greener each day I know things are looking up but soon they'll take us down, before anybody knows our name.”

I’ve been listening to “All the Right Moves” by OneRepublic quite a bit lately. It seems to encompass my feelings. “All the right friends, in all the wrong places..” all my “right” friends are In Arizona, and I want them here.

Sometimes I feel like I’ve let people down by moving across the country. I guess what I really do is fill myself into this important person. Perhaps I just want to be more important than I am, so I feel like I’ve let people down.

Part of it is because I feel like I’m missing out on so much. One of my best friends got engaged, I wasn’t there to share in her excitement and from my distance, I didn’t even share in it anyway. I was bitter and harsh towards her, instead of supportive and excited. As if I am any better? Sometimes I just need to remind myself, knock myself down a few levels. I get big headed as a defense mechanism. It’s part of how I survive every blow that comes my way. It’s how I bounce back.

I feel like by moving away, I’ve exiled myself – I’ve become that long distance relationship that becomes hard to manage. Perhaps if I was there I could better understand situations. I could support my friends. In all I guess I miss that importance too.

For a while I had a pretty tight support system, and I had people who actually flocked to me. I wasn’t the needy one, but rather the sought out. – But this isn’t a feel sorry for me thing, but rather a heads up to those I’ve hurt in the past few years in attempt to actualize and realize my dreams.

It’s interesting to me to think I am where I am. In a few short days I will have lasted 2 rough years in New Jersey. I’ve managed to maintain a 3.0+ GPA and I’ve had a handful of incredible people leave wonderful footprints on my heart. And yet, a good portion of the time I just end up feeling lonely.

It’s hard for me to choose this educational success that I know in Arizona I would not have had – I’d have given in to too many temptations and not given my education the proper focus it should be getting – and the personal satisfaction of being there with my friends.

Shit, what am I rambling about anyway? The truth is that it’s hard for people to measure up to the standards set by my Arizona friends.

“Do you think I'm special? Do you think I'm nice? Am I bright enough to shine in your spaces? Between the noise you hear and the sound you like. Are we just sinking in an ocean of faces?”

No one seems bright enough to shine in their spaces.

So yeah, we’re going down.

There's such a fooled heart beating so fast in search of new dreams..

This whole birthday rapidly approaching begs the question, when is it okay for your biological clock to be ticking? I mean what is it that makes me feel like, yeah, I want a child. Logically, my brain says, “No fucking way” but everything else is saying “Do it.” Quit literally.

I’m lucky I’m going with logic on this one, as normally I tend to follow my emotionally unstable side. But it makes me wonder, why now? Why am I suddenly feeling the urge to procreate? I’m in a stable relationship, but I’m not married. And against my Catholic upbringing, I don’t think I need to be married anyway – I think there are plenty of emotionally healthy and happy children raised by unmarried people.

Calm down, I said I wasn’t running into having a child! I’m just saying it’s been pretty heavily on my mind. Perhaps it because the lady in my office is pregnant with twin girls and my uterus is jealous? Or maybe because my friend Meg is going to be induced today? Or the fact that my friend from school keeps posting pictures of her nephews? I’m surrounded by babies! What I do know is that I could be an awesome mom, fair, just, and able to provide plenty of love.

Food for thought.

Speaking of food, I’m hungry.

Tonight's the night, let's live it up

So I know yesterday’s entry was a bit intense. I contemplated doing a more light and airy approach to the DC adventures, but it wouldn’t do the emotions I felt justice.

Speaking of going to DC,(which Emily and I always call “Let’s go to Delaware,” because of the one time we had intended to drive to the Delaware boarder but ended up in Virginia.) People always ask us WHY we do these things. “Why are you in DC?” or “Why are you in Brooklyn?”

My response? Because I can.

The story behind it “Let’s go to Delaware!” is this:

Emily and I have a habit of getting up and driving somewhere “because we can.” I mean, neither of us have children or major responsibilities that would prevent us from using our down time to travel the area around New Jersey, so we take advantage of it. Usually it is during some major weather thing happening (read: Snow storm, torrential down pour etc.)

On this specific night (around 5PM) it was raining and we were sitting around watching TV and stumbling around on our laptops, I turned to her and said “we should drive to Delaware, right now.” She looked at me, shrugged and asked if she needed to put on pants. I told her she didn’t.

But she was smart.

We get to Delaware; I can tell you that it took 3 songs to drive through it before I saw a sign welcoming me to Maryland. Moments later, I saw a sign that said DC 56 miles. That’s when the idea hit me. My friend Wendy from Tucson had moved their recently to live with her parents. She was a night person, she would be up.) I made the call.

Me: What are you doing with your life?
Wendy: Laying on the couch why?
Me: I’m in Maryland, let’s get coffee.
Wendy: What? Okay.

Wendy lives about 15 minutes outside of DC in Falls Church, VA – We drove to her house, picked her up and then skipped the coffee for a Nighttime Tour of DC.

P.S That is the best time to see DC, there’s nobody around!

This is a regular occurrence for Emily and I. We’re constantly going somewhere because we can. Midnight excursions into Connecticut to get wings and beer, or to Union Beach, NJ to have a snowball fight on the beach (can you say you’ve done that? I have. It was fantastic.) We’ve made trips to New York City, and just recently long Island late at night. Though, all of our adventures don’t happen at night…most of them do. We’ve even trapeze through the biggest snow storm of the year in my 2001 Eclipse. Yes, we did get stuck. Yes we did get out without TOO much hassle. Yes, we are stupid sometimes.

Even though some adventures are tragic (being towed off the New Jersey Turnpike, costing me 250.00) they’re all worth it in the end. I’m experiencing more that I would have ever thought I could. I’m living my life as if today was my last day.

Because I can.

You made a place for the innocents, a prayer for the dissidents.

Everyday I wake up (usually warm) in my bed, beneath blankets and sheets I picked out. They’re soft and they’re comfy. They are not rough against my face. My bathroom is a few footsteps from my door. In there I have a washer, a dryer, a warm shower a toilet and a sink. I live in a fairly decent sized house and have the ability to come and go as I please.

Everyday I take for granted the things that come so natural to me. The things I have and the ability to live the way I choose to.

It makes me think of the Iranian women Neda, who died during peaceful protests against the 2009 Iranian presidential election. She was shot by supporters of the election and denied justice by the Iranian government. Many people involved with supporting Neda and the justice that needs to be brought on by hear death have fled the country for fear of Governmental action against them.

Its so easy to take for granted the simple liberties we have, the ability to protest against something we think is wrong, the ability to think, feel and do as we want.

The first weekend in August, I celebrated my new job by taking a trip to DC to visit my friend Wendy. It was an extremely fun and humbling experience. Over the course of the weekend I was re-invited to feel the effects of war on our country when I made the trip to the American History Museum in the Smithsonian. Re-educated on the wars we fought to maintain the liberty we have today. Re-invited to feel the emotions when a little boy innocently asked his mother if “the both of those buildings fell down completely,” as I stood in front of two support beams from the Twin Towers.

But nothing could prepare me for the feeling that crept its way over me when I stood in front of the Tomb Of The Unknown Soldier. A place that, forgive my ignorance but I knew nothing about. “What’s that?” I had to ask Wendy and Emily.

They explained to me that it was a memorial dedicated to the soldiers that fought our wars and came back unknown because they could not be identified. Every day this tomb was guarded by men in service, and every ½-2hours (Depending on season/time of day) the guards were changed and there was a ceremonial changing of the guards.

The tomb reads “Here rest in honored glory an American Soldier known but to God.” The power behind these words moved me in a way that’s almost too hard to describe. As I read them I felt a chill rush over me. It’s one thing to fight and die for our country, to be recognized by our country as hero, but then you think of all of those men who fought and died unknown. This was a tribute to them.

Before the changing of the guards took place we were instructed to stand and be silent. I couldn’t be anything else. I felt my mind push back and the view I saw was not that of a 25-year-old girl who never lost anyone close in war, but rather that of a girl who lost everyone in a war. I felt the heartache of the mothers who’s sons were never found, who’s bodies lie somewhere beneath earth unmarked and unknown. For a moment I felt the loss of my husband. I silently mourned the loss of all the people killed in a war, in a terrorist act, a homicide, or an accident. And then I straightened up and felt honored and I saluted the men who fight everyday to make sure that I can wake up each morning, and write a blog from the desk of my work as I sip my coffee and eat a piece of candy.

“I never thought the world could be so small…”

That's all right cause I love the way it hurts...

I had to say goodbye to my ever so awesome part time gig as a professional pirate and colorist(?) to become part of the grown up world again. I was sad to see this happen and slightly miffed at how easily the oldest boy dismissed me. In my awkward adult skin, I felt pretty rejected. “I thought you had a job?” He said to me during my last week with him on a daily basis and then added, “I didn’t want you to come today.”

I’m used to him saying these things to me, because he does. Then seconds later he is wrapping his arms around me, nuzzling his face into my stomach or shoulder. “I want to hug you,” he’ll say. The dismissal by him cut a little deeper than it probably should have, but the imprint is there nonetheless. I’ll be seeing the wonder duo again, on a weekly basis – at least that’s the plan.

I began a full-time job today for an eye-wear distributor of sorts. It seems like it will be a great fit for me. My main responsibilities will be…whatever needs to be done. I’m more or less a gopher girl for two separate people in the office; my skills and talents will be split between the two to make sure things get processed. But thus far, I like it. I enjoy the owners who are not pretentious in the least bit and the atmosphere makes me feel comfortable in my own skin.

I’m very optimistic about this new beginning.

Working hard to get my fill, everybody wants a thrill...

I’ve been on the hunt for a new job or additional job to my current babysitting gig, with several applications under my belt, I’ve had no such luck on even getting a call back. Perhaps my resume needs some better polishing? I think it looks fine. I find myself appealing to say the least, but then again maybe I’m just biased.

I knew with the oldest kid trotting off to kindergarten my gig would be up soon. I love these kids. I love that I have been a part of their lives and family. The parents are great. They’ve been nothing but supportive in all of my trials and tribulations. It’s really truly hard for me to come to grips that I’m going to have to go back into the real world and attempt to make a living.

When I first moved out here, my plan was to try and find a nanny gig and attempt school at full times status. It was my dream. My goals. I wanted to be a student. I wanted to know what it was like to not work full time and to actually dedicate myself as a student. I saw a handful of my privileged friends get this experience and I admit, I was jealous. I wanted my parents to support me and allow me the experience of a college student. I dreamed of dorm rooms and cram sessions, I know that can’t be normal.

As I grew older the dorm rooms became less realistic, because I had already established myself as an independent person. I’d lived in an apartment, a house, a condo and so on, I couldn’t see myself cramming into a dorm room where my space was constantly shared. I’m a pretty bad roommate as is. I’m slightly messy and I leave a trail in my wake. I’ve tried to concentrate on these problem areas, but I old habits really die hard. Either way, I’m not too terribly torn up about not having the college dorm room experience.

In any event I snagged a few craptastic jobs answering phones for a few call centers, but not a single one of them gave me the opportunity to work part time and dedicate myself to school. The few classes I did take while working had to be online and if I needed some time to go to the school there was often hell to pay. My boss was a nazi-ass and wouldn’t budge. Others were allowed the right of school and higher education but it seemed in this particular work place the idea of education was dangerous to them. It meant you’d move on to better things, and they were not about to let that happen. Lucky for me, or rather unlucky for me, I had my gallbladder taken out and this actually allowed me some time off from work.

During this healing process I started searching heavily for a new job. I needed to find a nanny gig so I could afford myself the dream I wanted, I needed to go to school full time. I needed to get a college degree. This wasn’t a need in the sense that most people go to school to make more money, this was a psychological need for me. The idea that I had dropped out of school and obtained only a G.E.D didn’t sit well with me. It was a constant reminder of my failure to hack it in a real school situation, a constant reminder of my shortcomings. I know I should be proud that I even did that, but the high standards I have, I don’t see it as that. I need to get a college degree so I’m not just another person who’s childhood dreams get pushed to the back of their mind. My childhood dreams were college. And plenty of it.

Eileen sent me an email and we arranged a time to meet, an interview. I had been on a few before; most people nodded, smiled and then never called me back. Eileen gave me a shot. I had a trial period with these two bright-eyed boys and she asked me to stay longer. And then I was offered the gig.

Not a moment too soon.

I was supposed to return to work the following day and it gave me a great amount of pleasure to be able to resign from the hellish place. It felt good to drive their, gather my belongings say good-bye to the co-workers I had made a connection with and leave my doctors note on my supervisors desk. Looking back, it wasn’t the best exit, but it was something that even today, it feels good.

The few hours I spent with the boys and I was hooked instantly by the charisma of the older child, Luke and the laughter from the younger one, Graeme (Pronounced Graham). I look back at a few of the pictures I took when I just started (a year ago right now) and I think about how incredibly fulfilling and awesome it has been to be part of their growth. A lot more than I can say if I worked for the people I had worked for before.

I think about all the things I’ve learned in the process and I’m ever so thankful for the opportunity to become a full-time student and dedicate myself to my education. My fear now is that I will have to fall back into a full-time job to continue keeping myself a-float in New Jersey and my education will slack.

Thirty some odd applications later, a quickly approaching end to supporting myself via childcare, and increasing bills has me sinking.

These streets will make you feel brand new...

What is there that I don’t love about New York City? I’ve been on the East coast for going on two years and without fail every time I am in New York City my eyes transform into the same look Little Star Wars boy gets when you offer him a cookie or candy. Inside, my heart does the same kangaroo bounce that he does when he dances or approves of something. I’ve begun the exploration process but I haven’t even scraped the surface.

And everyday I’m there leaves me with a new found love for it and life.

Last week one of my best friends flew out from Arizona so we could “geek” it up and attend a backstreet boy concert. I love that as adults we can now do things like this where we fly out to see a concert or even go to the concert because we (well most of us) pay for it ourselves. When we were younger and the backstreet boys were at the height of their success we could only dream about spending time in NYC and seeing the boys perform. We could only wish we were there, but now, we can and were there. Their show was sold out and granted it wasn’t Madison Square Garden, it may as well have been to us.

Ashley and I arrived in the city around 10 AM to do some exploring before we joined the masses inline for the show. Our first stop was the Museum of Sex, sadly, I’ve lived in NJ almost two years and I’ve been to The Met numerous times and The Museum of Sex twice now.

I think its funny, that of all the amazing and wonderful Museums, this is where I end up. Okay, mostly it’s because someone comes and visits and they almost always want to hit up The Met. I’m not complaining, I love going, but I really should get on the ball and see other museums (MOMA, Natural History, Guggenheim) because I love them.

In any event, the MOS was neat, they had a exhibit called Rubbers: The Life, History and Struggle of the Condom. I have to admit, that WAS actually interesting and grotesque all at once. But again, this is New York, and really, if they don’t have it, it doesn’t exist.

This is an example of what I love about this city; there’s always SOMETHING to do.

~*~*~*~*~

The day I took Ashley to the Airport she wanted to see Washington Square Park since it was the only park in NYC that she hadn’t seen. We drove in. Now I know some of you are thinking that it’s a death wish to drive in NYC, and you’re probably right – But I think my true calling in life is NYC Taxi Cab driver, because really, no matter how psychotic they drive you always make it to your destination in one piece. I drive like I know what I’m doing, even if I’m lost.

When we arrived at Union Square we were met with the Festival of India, like I said, there is ALWAYS something to do. After a few rounds around the block we actually managed to snag some “Rock star parking” a block away from the park. How do I always manage to do this?

We weave our way in between the masses of people wrapped in bright and beautifully jeweled fabrics and as we’re snapping a few photos, I turn to see a boy and girl walking a dog. What makes this exceptionally significant is that as they come to a point and kiss each other before going separate ways, the look on the boys face as he walks away from the girl and her dog is beautiful. It’s this goofy-happy-smirk and I fall in love with his moment. It makes me smile and it gives me hope. Because moments like these are what I live for.

And I remember what I’m fighting for all over again.

A Public Letter to the Ass Holes Next Door

Hey!

Remember that time when you put a cone in front of our houses asking us not to park there. And remember how it said “Be a Good Neighbor” at the end. Because I do.

Remember when you had you bitched about my car being parked in the same spot while I was on vacation in Arizona and then when I came back you parked a third car in front of our house that never moved through the horrible snowy winter we had? Because I do. I remember having to park a few blocks up the street because your third car sat there with its expired tags and out of state licenses plate.

And remember how I was a “good neighbor” not to have that car towed because its illegal to have a car sitting in one spot, and that one sat there for roughly 6 months?

And remember how many times I slipped and fell because I had to walk up the block to get my car after we had a few bad snow storms? Oh right, you couldn’t remember that because you didn’t have that problem since your cars (All of them) parked in front.

Hey, remember that time we renovated our yard and tore up the side of the road and had cones placed in front of it so it made parking less easy for the neighbors? Oh? You don’t remember that because we didn’t do it. It’s you guys that did.

Oh and hey, remember how you parked in front of our house because you wanted to make sure the other person in your house was able to park near your door too and so your car was in the spot that I’ve mostly been parking in for the past 1.5 years I’ve been here?

Remember how you asked us to be good neighbors and we did by not parking in that one spot and not calling the town about your third car (Hey thanks for moving it!) Why do we have to be good neighbors but you can be ass holes? Seems a little bit fucked up don’t you think?

So hey, I guess this is my note where I ask YOU to be a good neighbor and not park your car in front of our house.

It would be really appreciated.

Sincerely,


Your “Good” Neighbor.

If you long to be longed for, if you ache to be craved

The words have failed me so in its place I will communicate what I feel through a select few photographs taken from the J.C Photography Collection and a Ryanhood Quote called "You Used To"

“Used to live alone, used to know how, then you fall in love and you can’t live without. One day it’s over alone with your heart, now why are you where you are? Get used to a feeling, used to a friend, start taking for granted the sight and the scent. One day it’s over alone in your skin how do you begin again?” - Ryanhood You Used To

I cannot seem to operate and you my love are gone...

In the past 24-hours I’ve hit all kinds of emotions. I feel like I’m on a wheel of emotions spinning around. I’ve cried, I’ve shouted, I’ve laughed, I’ve smiled, and I’ve laid lifelessly defeated and let the sadness take over. I’ve tried to keep myself occupied with things as to not let my mind slip into the typical sinkhole.

I don’t want to be the girl that loses her damn mind over a boy. I want to be the girl that just picks up her chin and fights on. But I’m not that girl. I never was that girl, and it’s likely that I wont be that girl now, but damn it if I don’t want to be that girl.

I think in my attempt to be that girl I am hurting myself more because I’m not allowing my emotions to fully cycle themselves out. My sister-in-law told me that being angry will probably not help, but for me, anger subsides quicker than sadness. I am quick to forgive when angry, so if I could move to the anger part, it would make this loss a lot easier to deal with.

In my obvious self-hatred I looked immediately to my faults. What I did wrong, how I could have prevented it. That’s what anyone ever does. We all want to blame ourselves, but I also look at the relationship for the obvious faults that were not just mine, but his as well.

We neglected to look past the most basic parts of our relationship. Where there was supposed to be growth, we allowed ourselves to stay in this limbo. I’m not a relationship veteran, but I know that there has to be growth, goals, changes – we didn’t have those things. We had love, an abundance of it – but in the end, is that all we ever really need? Or realistically do we need more than that? Realistically there are desires and things that need to be fulfilled that love wont do. Compromise will.

Finding equal balance between what each person wants. Realistically, we were both selfish. He wanted it his way and I wanted it my way. No compromise. He wasn’t ready for change and I wanted to keep moving. He was wounded and I wanted him to be healed. I know from my own experience you cannot rush the process in which we heal ourselves. I also know that you cannot heal unless you are ready to confront what hurts you. He was not ready. What we had in love, we also lacked space, and I blame myself for that. I found that I wanted to be with him all the time because of the way he made me feel that I probably suffocated him with my neediness. I don’t think he was used to the idea of someone wanting his attention constantly and I pushed those limits.

I’m hurting the most because I feel worthless. No matter how many people tell me I’m awesome or how great I am and how it’s his loss. My mind keeps reminding me that I’m not good enough to fight for; I’m not the exception, I am the rule. For me this is a common territory for me, this constant struggle to measure up and failing.

When I think that I’m setting the bar too high and perhaps I should lower it, I can’t bring myself to do it because It feels like I’m settling. I want more than that for myself, I fear that if I settle, then I will not live to my potentials and for me, I feel like I can and should be more than I am right now. Call it desire to “stick it to the man” or an obsession with perfection either way, it is what it is.

So I set my bar high, I fail, and I’m saddened by the results. Arguably, I think I’d be worse if I set my expectations too low. And arguably, I think I’d fall into mediocrity.

I [can] be better than that.

So tonight my heart hurts. Tonight my brain is moving too fast and my need for him to be with me is strong. But I desire and need more and maybe he can’t provide that for me, and maybe that’s okay.

Then again, maybe I’ll be the exception and not the rule.

"And if you come around again then I will take, then I will take the chain from off the door.."

The Chain

Falling into, falling into, you're falling into history

There was a time when I wouldn’t go anywhere without my camera. There was a time when all I wanted to do was take photos. I lived for it. I was intoxicated by the art of showing people what I saw or finding a unique look at something familiar.

I had always taken pictures on my Fuji Finepix camera and it produced relatively good photos for a point and shoot but I longed for the bulky-National-Geographic-like heft of a dSLR. One day after a rough week at work I decided I wasn’t waiting any longer and made the purchase.

After many months of studying and asking questions and comparing I settled on the Nikon D60 because it was a good basic camera by all accounts. It was great for learning and good enough to take into the first steps of being pro. I was in love with what it would mean for my photography and immediately started using it, except, the photos I took with it were less than amazing. I figured, well I just don’t know how to use it properly, once I took a film class and learn how to properly use an SLR camera my photos would be better.

I took the class. Two of them in fact and I tried changing settings and fixing shutter speeds and apertures, but nothing seemed to be working. The photos came out too blue and I couldn’t figure out how to fix them short of putting the camera on Auto and snapping the picture. This was what I always did with the Fuji, but I had more expectations for the dSLR. I wanted to be a real photographer that was able to create the image with little to no editing but the photos I was producing were less than quality.

So I set down the camera and I’ve seemingly walked away from it. I’ve walked away from photography. I argued that there wasn’t time, I was too busy, but that was hardly the case. I noticed when I did go out and take the camera I didn’t take many pictures. I always felt less than satisfied with the results. And this began to bother me. I wanted to know why I had fallen out of love with the camera and the photographs.

I figured it out when I was talking to a friend of mine. I realized I had taken two photo classes expecting to learn how to use my camera and how to be a better photographer, but instead these two classes have left me feeling like less of a photographer. I learned how to develop, but not enough to really love what I created. When I would get things wrong approach the professor of the class for help I was greeted with hostility and abrasiveness.
All in all, I loved the professor as a person, but as a teacher, he seemly had failed me. I feel like I missed out on a lot of really potentially good information.

What I realized is that had I learned more about how to use the camera and had more successful results than perhaps I wouldn’t have fallen out of touch with my love for the lens. I seem to have put down the camera and walked away from it on the account of not loving the outcome and feeling like I wasn't taking good enough photos. My photos bored me, they didn't inspire me.

When I used the Fuji with my lack of knowledge I could always come away with at least 5 pictures of the 200 that I shot that I adored. This was good enough for me. It seems now, I'm lucky if I get one, this discourages me.

I realize that I seemingly let go when things got bumpy and I want to pick the camera back up and fall back in love with photography because I feel rather empty without it.

Listen to each drop of rain whispering secrets in vain...

“She acts like summer and walks like rain, reminds me that there’s time for change”

My hiatus from writing was due partially to lack of inspiration but also a censorship on my part. For years I wrote blogs where I would continually bitch about my life and where it was. None of this was really all that productive. After writing these blogs I wouldn’t feel better and I wouldn’t feel like I achieved anything personally from it. In the past 6 months I have seen my writing change drastically. I’ve felt the pull from my heart and brain as I began writing with reason. And the pain that I had slowly has begun to stop aching.

Progress.

“Nothing last forever and we both know hearts can change.”

Recently a family member lost her mother. This loss called to heart my own mother who in recent events I’ve not spoken to. I have mommy issues. I hate the choices she made and I resent her for the life I lived. I feel like I am having to relearn things and grow up all over again to straighten out the kinks that have braided themselves into my personality.

But I miss the smell of her perfume, I miss laying with her and smelling her smokey sweet smell.

Mother’s day came and went and my heart was heavy with pain, I seemed to have lost both of my mothers, one because of my need to recoil and pull back from the lacerations caused to my heart, and the other two a vicious disease.

I attempted to call her multiple times but she never answered. And then finally the connection happened.

“Mom?” I said weakly.

“Hello?” she responded back truly lost as to who was calling her. My heart ached – did she not remember my voice? Had it changed that much in the past 1.5 years?

“It’s Jennie…” I offered my voice trailing.

And then all of the walls I had built fell apart.

We talked for an hour as I drove down to visit my boyfriend for the weekend. I told her about my life, I told her about my achievements I told her about my oh so hot boyfriend and how I’ve really fallen in love.

She was proud. She was always proud of me. My mom had always talked about “her smart and witty daughter.” She had always supported my writing and creativity. It felt good to hear her tell me that she was so happy that I was doing well. I felt the compassion in her voice and for once, I didn’t respond in bitter rage. I soaked in the glow of a mother daughter connection, melted into it.

As I hung up the phone allowing her permission into my life again, I felt the cold walls build up again. I had callers remorse. In a weak moment I felt like I had betrayed my own thoughts. I had not listened to my better half that said she was poison in my life. In an instant I had forgotten all the roller coasters her love had taken me on. I had forgotten the scars that are so apparent to those who meet me. I wanted so badly to feel this that I ignored the pain, just as I had in the past.
I wanted this to be different. I want to be the one in control of the relationship. I knew I had to proceed with caution. While I felt sorry for her with her health so deteriorated I also felt the snide thoughts pour in. They darkened the beautiful pure moment of joy I had felt only seconds before.

It was bittersweet moment for me and I find myself conflicted.

“Someone told me long ago, there’s a calm before the storm. I know, It’s been comin’ for sometime…”

Before the worst, before we met... Before too late

I would never say that making friends came easy to me. It was always something that I was insecure about. I have a pretty amazing talent for rejecting myself before others can reject me. The sting from the rejection hurts less to me if I don’t allow it to begin with. It’s also a big reason why I probably never had any real healthy relationships with people in my early teen years. I never allowed people to close to me for fear that one day they would abandon me. I have major abandonment issues and I know its all because I have “mommy issues.”

When I was roughly 16-years-old and itching to get my drivers licenses I remember making a phone call to get a hold of my mom to schedule a time when she could take me to get my permit. Instead of living with my mother, who was staying at peoples houses and couch hopping, I was living with my older brother and his wife. Things with my mom where never good so when I was 15-years-old I had decided that enough was enough. I begged my grandmother to let me live with her and living with her eventually lead to me moving in with my older brother.

It was rough for me to adapt to living under his rules and having to actually listen to my older brother but during this time I also found a friend in my sister-in-law. The thing about her was when she talked to me, she talked to me like I had some idea of what to do. She talked to me and allowed me to talk as if I were an adult. She treated me respectfully and It was something different for me. It was something I needed.

So it was finally time for me to get my permit and I was thrilled. When I called the people that my mother was staying with, They informed me that she had moved, she had gone to Las Vegas. None of my siblings or I were aware of this until this moment. My mother had up and left without telling any of her children, 2 of which where still technically under her care as legal guardian.

This was the first incident where my mother literally left us for a different state. Prior to this incident she was constantly leaving us at our house under someone’s half-assed care and going out. For the first couple years of my life my Brother Daniel was in charge and he was only seven. Looking back on this I can’t help but feel so incredibly sorry for my brother. He lost quite a bit of a childhood by having to raise or help raise his younger siblings. So I struggle with being left behind.

The problem with this is that because I don’t want to be left I also have a hard time with letting go with the people I bring in to my life. Namely friends. I allow a lot of things to happen before I sever ties with an individual. When I make a friend, its generally for life. I’m pretty good at keeping in contact with people when they’ve moved or I have, but I can only do so much.

Lately, I’ve found myself less inclined to deal with peoples shit, to put it bluntly. I’m finding that I’m less interested in what others want and more interested in what I want. In situations where I would normally become emotional and angry, I find myself calmer. The anger still hits me, but I don’t react as I used to.

Little by little I’m letting people go.

Everyone's got their chains to break

It’s April and among the flowers and springing to be had, there is a dark shadow that looms over my head. April was the birth month of both of my grandparents and so their presence and lack of presence falls heavy on my mind.

My cousin Beth says I’m a tortured soul. She’s absolutely right. Most of the torture is the self abuse I put myself through which is more or less why I have this blog, it’s a sort of “public dear diary” minus the “today I met a boy and he was so cute…” or maybe that’s still included (See Get Your Head outta the clouds kid) But its more about a revelation in myself and being able to share myself without completely committing to the patient psychologist system.

I’m still not quite sure about paying someone to listen to me talk, so instead, since I’m poor, I cast my feelings out into the world wide web. Maybe I’m hoping to make a connection, or maybe I know that some day someone will stumble across my words and read them. But mostly, I type and write these things because as the Foo Fighter’s say “I’ve got another confession to make…”
And I do, something that has been lingering over my head for the past few years…

The death of my grandmother brought about a lot of hurt feelings. It brought the onset of families dividing and segregating because she was no longer the band aid that fixed the wounds she created. I say she created because my Grandmother, god bless her, was one of those people who chose favorites and choose sides. It was obvious who my grandma adored and who she tolerated. I don’t say that in the same tone that I would have years ago as a teenager burned by the classic Cinderella story happening in her family. Instead I say that as a girl who has learned to forgive and learned to understand the reasons behind the behavior. Make no mistake, my grandma loved each of her kids and grandchildren, some she just loved more and it was painfully obvious.

~*~*~

Once when I was living with my grandmother and my sister and I shared a room I remember a huge fight breaking out between my sister and I because she wanted the room to herself with her friends, and I wanted to stay in. Of course I was being the younger sister dying to tag along. Despite what I think now, I always wanted to hang out with my sister. I adored her, I even, dare-I-say-it-and-she-gets-an-ego, thought she was cool.

With this particular incident she told me I had to get out of the room and I refused. A few words were spit back and forth and me, lets face it having more wit said something to her that made her friends chuckle. This enraged my sister to the point where she came at me dumping her DQ blizzard all over me and screaming at me to get out. Embarrassed and upset by the whole ordeal I remember walking into my grandmother’s room and saying “Look what Cassie did to me.” Her exact words still cut to this day, “You probably deserved it.”
In that moment ice cream seeping down my sweater I felt the coldness, the inability to rationalize with her and I felt the favoritism sting in my already tear-filled eyes. This was a huge turning point in my teenage years for me. It was something that built this wall of hate. I hated my grandmother, but I loved her. I desperately sought her attention. I desperately wanted her to love me the same way she loved my sister. I wanted anyone to love me the same way; to protect and side with me. I spent the next years of my life harboring a teenage hate, rage and disappointment towards my grandmother, but again, I constantly sought her approval, but nothing ever seemed to be enough.

~*~*~

My confession comes back to our family. Growing up we always saw our cousins “The Crawfords” as the chosen few. As a Welch, I wanted to be them because they got to have a mother and a father and they got to have grandparents. I got to have grandparents that acted as my mother and father. My grandparents were responsible for everything we had including the clothes on our back, the food that we ate and the times we spent in church. They wanted us to have a fighting chance with our drug-addicted mother and they wanted desperately for their daughter to come around. We all did.
The problem on the other side of the pasture was The Crawfords saw the Welch’s as the chosen ones. We were the ones who my grandmother couldn’t leave despite the many pleas for her to move back to IL. She couldn’t leave us. She wouldn’t let us fall despite the maltreatment we gave her – We (Welch kids) were broken children from a broken home and our grandparents where the only real parents we knew, so they got heavily lashed with our poor behavior. They were too old to be raising children again. My grandfather just wanted to be retired. He wanted to enjoy being a grandfather, not a parent again.

To the other side, we were the ones causing wrong. And this became clear in an fight between my uncle and my sister after the passing of my grandmother. In his anger and hurt he told my sister he hated her, took a step back, blinked and said I hate what your mother has done or something to that effect.

That night, lines were officially drawn in the sand.

It’s constantly been this struggle of “they’re taking too much” or “I wanted this” its been a battle as we dismantle our grandmothers home. I’ll be honest when I say my siblings and are feeling a bit of resentment and a whole lot of unfairness in the breaking down of my grandparents estate.

That being said, my confession is that I took something from the house in my last visit. It was a radio. A radio I had said I wanted, I knew that both my aunt and uncle each had this radio already. First asked for it and then I waited. And waited. I was told “well see.” And then finally it was coming down to “What hasn’t been taken is up for grabs.” So I grabbed it.

The guilt lays thick on me because I confessed to my sister the day my plane was to take off and bring me back to New Jersey that I had taken the radio. “That’s not fair!” she shouted, “I took it and was told I had to bring it right back.”

I could feel the sinking in my heart. Logically, I was told I could take what I wanted, but mentally I felt the sting of doing something wrong.

Shortly after my return to New Jersey my aunt called me, I was unable to answer her call and she left me a message. I did not return her call. She called me again a few days later, again I was unable to take her call. She left a message. And again, I did not return her call. I figured it was about the radio and my conscious wasn’t ready to confront what I had done. Part of me was angry for having to justify taking it but part of me was scared. My intentions were not to steal property at all. Really, it’s a radio, it has no sentimental value what so ever, I have other things for that – it was just something I wanted. I saw everyone else getting things they wanted, so I took a step up and I took what I wanted.

So how come I feel so guilty? I’d gladly give the radio back if it meant the lines could be redrawn and I could feel my family become a whole rather than pieces that lay scattered on the floor.

And Lastly, “I’ve got another confession to make…” If I could have had a mother who raised me instead of my grandmother, I would have. I don't think people understand how sorry I am that my grandmother made the decision to stick by our side. I am thankful for it don’t get me wrong, but I confess I wish “The Crawfords” knew that it was her decision and not ours.

We were only children.