marching with silent steps

Somebody said it’s like walking through pudding but not as fun as that sounds-all this snow and ice and sunshine. This blanket of ice is almost welcome as it can fucking match the maddening blizzard inside my head that will never melt revealing the grass and dirt beneath it all.

Flogging self pity is pointless. Many things are pointless but curious still. I keep picking up the same things and putting them down sneakily thinking I’ve hidden them well and lashed them down where they will suffocate and die off eventually.

Most things circling around inside my head bob up to the surface regardless of how many weights of negativity I put around them trying to make them sink and settle to the bottom to rot away to nothing.

My heart is like a hula-hoop in the grass abandoned in fall’s last hurrah of warmth to be found after all the snow melts for the winter and it can be spring again. Maybe I will pick it up and swing it around my hips, shaking to and fro.

But maybe I will spin it down my hill and let it land in someone else’s yard where I can’t trespass and pick it up again. So for now, the ice and snow are okay, hiding whatever it is that I don’t want to find me again.

my kingdom for, something

The street light bright but not over my head shines in the winter night sky, its shimmer reflected in the wet pavement under my feet. Foggy breath like a puff of smoke evaporates adding itself to the clouds above forming structures built to rain, hale and sleet.

Equal to the task

Revenge and ruin seem to be the natural inclination when you’re scorned. I am all for that good grace of turning the other cheek, looking for the lesson to be learned and moving on to a better place but that feels unnatural-unnatural as it would be to try to breathe via my eyeballs or walk around on my hands all the time. Or like eating an orange when all you want is cake-unrewarding and you are left feeling lacking somehow. That feeling that you have totally forgotten something and are trying to remember it.

Bitter revenge is even more alluring than plain revenge. Bitter things to be said and done with the intent to injure and flatten designated wrong-doer. Its done with malice, forethought, calculation and intent. Bitter because of the shadow it can cast inside yourself despite the intended release it seeks. It can be like an after taste, one that is difficult to wash away.

Does it make you feel better to hurt someone else, try to hurt them more than they hurt you? I have a sneaking suspicion that it doesn’t work that way but that feeling of temptation to do it is as strong as a junkie wants it junk.

It’s like that last brownie after you have already eaten 6. It’s tempting, sounds and smells wonderful and feels satisfying right before you take the last two bites.

Remorse is worse than the feeling that propels you to seek revenge mostly because the deeds done to make you want to be the Godzilla to someones tiny Japanese village are never undone-no matter how great your zinger could be.

If your legs are already chopped off and you are standing on stumps bleeding-does it really make you feel better to maim someone else?

Hatred is a strange bedfellow who snores, hogs the covers, is covered in fleas and never cuts their toenails. Revenge looks good on paper but after you sign on the dotted line are you really better off?

Confusing Obtuse with Abstruse

Obtuse: Not having acute sensibility or perceptions, not alert, especially to the feelings of others, slow to learn or understand

Abstruse: Concealed or hidden out of the way, difficult to be comprehended or understood,difficult to penetrate, incomprehensible to one of ordinary understanding or intelligence

Asking for impossible events to occur reminds me the mathematical probabilities are not in my favor. I am convinced you will become my perfect enemy, one that I make up inside my own head. A battle fought and lost singularly without malice or concern I can lay my horse down.

Walking away, turning around, backing up, spinning in circles with my eyes closed, closing the book, turning the page, finishing the chapter, turning down my covers I lay my head down for a new day.

Shake my head loose of its thoughts, clearing my throat, taking a deep breath, flipping my pillow to the cool side, washing my hands, dropping my coat to the floor I squint to see the future.

My minds a blank, thoughts racing to fast to see I let them go, gone, long gone before this.

2010

“Where do I hope to be in 2010? A nurse, a mother, a wife and friend. Healthy. Happy. And working to live not living to work while I watch Spawn and Chica blossom and grow. Spending more time with my husband of many years by then and watching D be the successful artist I know he can become.”

So , its 2010. I am still a wife, mother, friend and yes ladies and germs, a nurse. I am bored and reading my old entries having no idea why anyone reads my crap-I mean, come on-there is free porn on the web? Whatever.

That was two years ago and I can’t believe how much things have changed in my life and the lives of those close to me. I would loose an entire family to murder, see multiple friends go through divorces, see one parent bury their adult child who overdosed, graduate school and start working as a RN, meet and acquire new friends I now see I could not live without, make some brilliant and some stupid mistakes of my own that I do not care to share, one cat die, get a new kitten, dye my hair blond and back to brown again, start using wrinkle cream gawd help me, buy not one but two pairs of skinny jeans-the name it self is an oxymoron which I kinda of love, watch Spawn and Chicapoo grow up so much and loose most of myself with the fear that it all might be gone forever.

I will be 39 in two months exactly (jewelry is always a good gift, thanks for being so thoughtful) and I am too old to be young and too young to feel this old.

Have been so busy running the race that when I stopped and looked around I could not and can not believe this is where I am.

Where ever you turn around there is your life, right where you left.

Magic kingdom

The California summer sun is hot, expansive and invades every spot that shade could be lingering. Ice plants bloom and glisten, the black top burns my feet walking from the beach to the car as shoes are superfluous. On the freeway back to my grandparents house my dad sings along to the radio with the windows down as he smokes cigarette after cigarette.

My lips are stiff, salty and swollen after snorkeling for 4 hours, my back singed but memories of each grain of sand, still contemplative Garibaldii , quivering anemone and whip fast anchovy hold fast and steady. I practice trying to swim with the enormous schools of anchovy that zoom around like sheep on a hillside, just as dumb and afraid-as if I could catch one or would want to. I just want to be in the middle-between a wall of silver fish scales.

There is a large grain of sand between my molars on the bottom and I fidget with it using my tongue. I spit it out on my finger and its black and shiny and the size of a sesame seed. Covered in my spit it clings to my finger as I attempt to flick it out the window the wind blowing in my face blowing my sunlightened hair around my face. I press my thumb into my thigh to test how much of a burn I have and its not much. rummaging around in the cooler I take out a soda and as it opens it sprays on me, my dad shouting “Jesuschrist Nic.”

I startled him which is easy to do seeing how he has no peripheral vision and is night blind. Even at 8 I know that is unsafe to drive. We get home, eat a quick dinner and have time for an ice cream and the sunset on the hood of his Austin Healey. Next year we will drive it to mexico for a week long vacation on the beach but for now we just tool around in the clown car, blue of course.

I ask endless questions that he seems to have endless answers to. He hasn’t yet met the woman who would give me a brother finally and slowly wreck my life. For now its just us, on the hood of his car eating ice cream, sand still in my salty tangled hair, feet black from the black top and there can be no more magical kingdom than the hood of his car.

Like chocolate covered bacon

It all seems like a good idea if you don’t dig down too deeply. That puddle I stand in is so shallow it doesn’t even cover my shoelaces but it does make my feet damp and cold. Minor discomforts that distract me from other things could really use some thought and consideration. Physical manifestations that shine brightly like the sun reflected on snow, blinding me.

The sun warm on my face is  a comfort I enjoy and don’t take for granted. That sunshine  on my face should be enough and it is enough if I keep my eyes closed.

Actions do not equal choices although their outcomes reflect them.

Indulgences that make my stomach hurt, my headache like a hangover. Like chocolate covered bacon it might seem like the most brilliant idea ever but actually is an illness waiting to happen.

beautiful girl

Mysteriously beautiful, alien like- if you will, glowing golden hair and blue button eyes with sassy bee-hind and overly dramatic flair. Soft cheeks, pink lips,  black eyelashes and small pearly teeth with tinkle and cackle and snort. She is prone to throwing her head back with laughter and slapping her own butt. Her kisses are sweet and tiny hand always warm around my neck. Magically delicious, my girl is red hot, your girl ain’t diddly squat.

sliver moon

If I squint at the sliver moon it becomes all fuzzy and diffusely larger. Perspective and distance can change how you view things. Hold up my  hand to my right eye and the moon shifts to the other side. No matter how I look at it the moon still hangs in the sky stationary while we spin around and around.

The edge of winter slips slowly away allowing the sun to shine a bit longer each day like a promise. If I stand here, right here and wait for it summer will arrive. The act of waiting seems like a task I am able for and it feels productive although it is not. It’s like standing on those moving sidewalks in airports.

You appear to be going somewhere faster, more conveniently, with less effort but you arrive at the same place. The moon still hangs in the same sky growing larger and smaller at its own pace with indifference to your gaze.

one night to be confused, one night to speed up truth

There is a foot print on the rear window from heated breath and fumblings with thoughts and words and rustles. Cramped and ill-suited with the late hour and uncertain future time unfolds slowly like pulling a long red silk ribbon out of your hand. A tie that holds you together but can be snipped and unglued and tattered. Time stands still and  sped up inside your head and it feels like that ride at the shore where you spin around and the floor drops out from underneath of you. You feel perfect and lovely and content and happy.

Then gravity takes its hold on you again and everything slows down bringing your feet back to the ground. Your hair a mess and clothes askew and knees shaky and mind a numbing buzz between your ears.

And. and. and.