in which i write to you

It seems that my thoughts lately are about “what ifs,” “what isn’t,” “ what didn’t” and tonight I felt a big sense of “I didn’t,” and “why?”

Anxiety has been my companion lately, keeping me on my toes and ever presently worried. I can jump at the sound of a door opening, someone coughing, or a door closing. Maybe it’s the doors I should be studying so intently, worrying about their openings and closings and how I can better not miss them. I’m talking in circles a bit and I’ll talk it out a bit better soon. It’s too close, a door too freshly in motion to determine if it is a closing or an opening.




In other news, don’t miss the opened blogging door that is my true cousin love, Rebecca. She’s a New Yorker by way of the south. She writes poetry and has a bit of my heart. Read her.

it's a break something

Words like "your the coolest chick" should make me feel really good. Instead -much to the surprise of many- they make me want to run. Let's examine and induce some meanness. "your," I try real hard with the correct spelling and such, but when you want to make an impression, make sure you contractions, contract. I'm just saying. "chick" sadly, while the sentiment is totally sweet, I know few women who like it when a man calls them a chick. But I call men boys though I do it endearingly and with no hint of idiot girl syndrome which the formentioned does. None-the-less these words make me want to run. They should not. I should want to stay and talk awhile, but if I can, and I can, I use my brain and dissect something that should be left alone and turn it into a reason for running. Good lord in heaven, will I ever be able to stand still?

Quietness around here deos not mean quietness is truly afoot. I'm turning 3-0 in a matter of weeks, days really, and I think the breadown is beginning. Lot's that doesn't need to be worried about is being worried abour. Oh bother, oh dear, here to see another year.

one art

“so many things seemed filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.”

Oh Elizabeth Bishop, song of my heart. When these things go there is no disaster, but a quiet void none-the-less, a brief moment that the universe stops and ponders. We let things go quietly and unequivocally at times, when needed. I’ve needed to implore the no disaster rule and it is so odd how things can leave no wake when they leave, no churning over of emotions, just a pause, a nanosecond of desolation like the flicker when a light bulb goes out and then the replacing begins.

It is the replacing that can be disastrous, that I am having trouble with. And I own it all up to eyes. I don’t care how trite or cliché or nonsensical it can seem, the eyes, when stared at for long periods of time or even those little nanoseconds can tell you eons of things, lifetimes and worlds can pass through them. I’ve looked for those eyes all my life, dreamed about them. And now, I’m trying to replace them, their loss has been a disaster though I never truly owned them. And what can I do when the eyes that stare back at me now tell me nothing, no lifetimes, no history lessons? Was I imaging it? Was I just practicing my art, my own art of losing?

“I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.”

Oh Elizabeth Bishop, song of my heart.

track this package

I find it funny that a UPS commercial has a Postal Service song playing it the background. It's just so American- in the sense that we own everything that is ironic and tinged with sarcasm.

rings and things

I bought a rock today. It currently sits on my right hand though I don't know how long it will. It's green, not neccesarily the color of an emerald, but it's green and green seems to be my favorite color of late. And the size is beyond. It's probably equal to at least 5 or 6 carrats. It's obnoxious and yet simple and plain at the same time. Just a huge green sparkly thing set in silver. I think I love it.

When we read The Great Gatsby in high school, my English teacher asked the class what the green blinking light at the end of Daisy's dock symbolized. Thinking of the neighbor's desire I do believe I raised my hand and said, "Go." Oh silly, silly girl. My friends chuckled and someone pointed out that traffic lights had not yet been invented. It was the money and greed and envy I couldn't see. I just saw love and lust and wanted so badly for Gatsby to just go and get what he needed, what Daisy needed.

I can imagine the first boy to remark on my green, giantess ring. He'll say something like, "It that the kind of rock you expect?" "Not at all," I'll reply. "This one doesn't come with someone's heart attached to it."

on the weather

"It's January 14th and 70 degrees outside," a bewildered man said to his son this morning in the Starbucks parking lot. His son responded with some kind of quesiton about a movie, too young to care about the flip of the seasons, the unrealistic bend toward Spring in Winter, long before Winter even got here.

I'm not a fan of the flipping seasons. I want Winter with all it's rudeness and smugness. I want to complain about my feet being cold and hide under scarves and sweaters and actually use the endless supply of jackets I own. I want to wear my heavy jeans with a longsleeve shirt and not worry about sweating late in the day.

I need the huddled up, hermit like behavior inducing weather of Winter. I need snow, or at least the hope of it. I am not happy with Winter shirking it's duties. I get up and go to work everyday. All I'm asking if for Winter to do it's job. It's really not such a difficult task.

on forgetting christmas

I've let Christmas go quite early this year. At the turn of the new year I began packing things up and decidedly not turning on the lights on the tree. Then, of course the ornaments began to go while on the phone to a friend. I've let Christmas go quite easily though lamenting it's loss none-the-less. It is my favorite time of year and one month of wonderfulness is never enough even though I know I just have to wait 11 more. But, so much could happen in those eleven months to ruin or spoil the magic of the Christmas past or even, yet, keep it from coming altogether.

The tree is gone, the jingle bells taken down and even with the plastic lids of the storage boxes snapped shut I look up to see shiny little packages and glittery red star garlands hanging from the window treatments. Oh Christmas, I knew you couldn 't let go either.

i could

I could make a home in your dimples, set up camp and nuzzle in. I’d be so happy there, close to your nose and warmed by your smile. I could live a lifetime there all snuggled in and curled up tight.

It’s silly to say that I could fly through your eyes, skim the surface of your blue skies. I could puddle in your tears and trickle down your cheek.

I could live on your grin, eating the happiness you share, drinking the laughter you give.

I could swim through your hair, be adrift on the waves. I could float there awhile, above your mind just wandering. I’d go from ear to ear letting you know that I was there, taking life in with you.

I could, I could, I could.

sometimes is not now

Sometimes I live in moments, in breaths of air, in words that should be tossed aside or let out to dry. Sometimes I move through moments too quickly, rushing them to get to the next, to the ones I will relive, the ones that keep me up at night, the ones that keep me hoping, that twist my days and nights around.

Sometimes I let the weight of things settle and feel the heft of emptiness. Sometimes I wish I had held the moment a second longer to make something permenant.

It is not enough to say, "I wish. I wonder." I want to say, "I know and I will never not." That sometimes is not now.

so many things

could be said about the end the year. The ones coming to mind right now are "tired, wondering, longing, hoping, excited, waiting, rested, slowed, expansed and watchful." It's been a good one, the one leading to 30 (like numbers really matter).

I could write my heart out and yet my first inclination is to stay quiet, to let it simmer then dissipate. That just seems more healthful at this point. And no, you don't know what I'm talking about. But, I do.