Monday, June 7, 2010

Scavenger Hunt

I spent yesterday with a friend doing a random assortment of things including but not limited to: picking out a bike (for her), geeking out an old car show, and scavenging through the Goodwill for books and decorative pieces.

Throughout the day—and night— we laughed and talked and laughed some more.

The theme of the conversation that broke our fits of laughter: Restructuring.

Newness has enveloped us both. As twenty-somethings there are constantly gains, losses and unexpected transitions.

And sometimes on a Saturday afternoon while rifling through books at the Goodwill you realize that your life is not what you expected. That you are not quite who you want to be. (Which is not a dig on used-book hunting, that will continue.)

Life has a way of breaking the fits of laughter, it seems. Whether it is in the form of an emotional upset, over-packed schedules or the aforementioned gains, losses and transitions.

At some point, though, there is a sense of urgency to get things back in working order.

I’ve reached that point.

It’s time for me to make a constant effort to be who I want to be. To make my life what it should be.

I’ve settled into my internship now, and I love it.

But, the 9-5 life or 7:30-6:30 life, actually, has consumed my energy. My creativity has wane, which is the most frightening thing for me.

As much as I enjoy my internship, I am incredibly frustrated by the lack of dimension in my life. The same was true of being a full-time student. And I feared the emptiness that I’m experiencing now.

It’s time to make my life full.

And so a new adventure begins, one with much more purpose than so many of my others.

I’m off to rifle trough the monotony of life in search of those precious things, people and places that will keep me happy, inspired and full. 

Sunday, June 6, 2010

Simple Words And Melodies

Sometimes I wish that someone were here with me now.

A warm body to brush against. Breathing, other than my own, to fill the silence.

And I’m sure that just being here would be enough.

That anything more would be too much.


In 2006, my already fragile world was destroyed. In a matter of minutes.

I fainted at first. Then, I laughed out of shock.  Then I defended the betrayer, at my expense.

It was—is—far more than I’ve ever had the courage to explain. It is something I dread explaining to the person that’s around long enough to deserve an explanation

That’s how the chips fell.  It was my trust that was irreparably damaged. Four lonely years later, I know for sure it was, indeed, irreparable. 

My only confidante is this page, full of the words I wish I could speak to that warm, breathing body. Which sometimes, in a moment of bravado, with trembling hands and a sour stomach, I have the courage to share with strangers and associates and friends.  


Other times not.

The nots are not good for my sanity. I am eaten up on the inside. And I lay in this room with simple words and melodies playing on repeat.

And I pray for sleep. Or the courage to speak. Or to forget.

All of my excitement about this new life complete with my own place and agenda are tainted by the right now. These reality pangs.

 No matter how great the day, there is always a lonely night with more longing than I can handle gracefully.

 Sometimes, I wish that I were full.

That the nights were as pleasant as the days.

That I knew which parts of me were real and which are just remnants of the destruction, waiting to be sifted.