Lately I have been trying my hardest not to use the word “hate”. I think it’s in poor taste to use the word, even though more than half the time that I use it, I don’t mean it. That may actually make the usage of the word more unnecessary than it already is. It sounds tacky to me, on top of being harsh, and I just think it is bad karma. Most of the things I “hate” I don’t have any control over anyways, hating them doesn’t make that any less easy to accept.
Having said that… yesterday I went to the dentist to get a crown on my tooth. A couple of months ago, I would have said that I hate the dentist. Today I am compromising and saying that I have a severe disliking for the place. I’m the person who has a mini heart attack every six months when I get a cleaning. By the way, after yesterday’s crown fiasco, I am all clear in the tooth department and have vowed to brush and floss after every meal/snack/sugar drink so I should never have to get a cavity again. Meaning I should never have to avoid the dentist and let said cavity get so bad that I have to get a root canal and a crown. Fingers crossed.
Other words/phrases I use to replace “hate”:
-“dislike” (obviously).
-“severely annoyed by….”
-“have an extremely low tolerance for…”
And, if I must, “detest”, which I realize might actually be worse than “hate”, but it sounds prettier, doesn’t it?
I will use them all in regards to dentistry. Here we go. I dislike going to the dentist. I am severely annoyed by having to keep my mouth open for two and a half hours straight, and furthermore I have an extremely low tolerance for the shrill noise the drills make whilst dr. dentist is banging round inside my mouth. Now, if you had to picture me saying that, wouldn’t I be in a classy club somewhere, lunching with friends, wearing pearls and lip gloss? The old me would have said “I frigging hate the dentist more than anything in the world. I am going to die” Where do you picture me when I say that sentence? That’s right, standing in line for the crane game at a wal-mart.
Another poor habit I have picked up as of late, is saying that I am going to kill myself in regards to any and every thing. I don’t know where or how this started, I just know that it has become my standard answer for every situation. I remember telling my friend one time that if something happened (don’t even remember what), I would jump off a bridge. (obviously I have no intentions of doing so, but whatever. I’m dramatic.) When she said to me, “you can’t say that!” I said, “yes I can, because no one that we know has jumped off a bridge”.
While we’re at work, my brother makes a game of trying to annoy me. He actually doesn’t have to try that hard because I get annoyed fairly easily at work. One of the ways he likes to bug me is by asking me what weapon I would use to defend myself if there was a zombie apocalypse. (Ridiculous) My answer always was nothing, I would just kill myself. If the world was being over run by zombies, I would just die, the end. I’m definately not going to be some zombie’s play thing. He gets so frustrated by that answer, and I kind of understand because it does ruin the game. The last time he asked me I finally answered, “a baseball bat with glass shards at the end of it…”, and he honestly looked so truly happy that I answered. He had the hugest smile on his face as he said, “that’s a great answer!”. I could tell he thought, “ha ha! I have finally gotten through to her! She has learned well from watching me play video games!” I waited about thirty seconds before I added “… to kill myself with!” I thought it was pretty funny, but he was not amused.
This particular instance led my brother to bring up my habit the other night while my family was eating dinner. He was saying how I say that so often that it has just lost its meaning by now. I guess I didn’t really realize how much I say it and for what types of silly instances. I argued with him about it for a little bit before I looked at the clock and saw what time it was (8:37). I didn’t even think before I said: “If it is seriously 8:37 right now, I’m gonna kill myself”, and that’s when I decided that I say it WAY too much without having any intention of doing so, and that it too needed to stop. I haven’t thought of another phrase to use in its place. Maybe I should just try being happy about everything that happens to me, and say something great like “I have to run for 45 minutes on the elliptical?! That makes me want to run in a field of daisies!” “If I have to go to the dentist, then you might as well sign me up to do charity work at the same time! LIFE IS GREAT!” (side note: my life is actually pretty great, and I am aware of that).
Speaking of the gym… it has occurred to me as of late that during the last five minutes of my run, I become very emotional. I’m assuming this is because I am SO tired and I just can’t hold in any emotions at all, happy, sad, whatever. I watch tv at the gym, and last week I was watching some special on prince William and kate. They showed her with princess Diana’s ring on… I totally started crying. Beiber in my headphones (don’t judge), dead princess’s ring on tv, I’m a mess on the machine. Another example: I was watching the news on Saturday while I was running and all they did was show a clip of the new harry potter movie… tears running down my face. The gym makes me an emotional wreck, not even kidding.
The other night I was going through some old folders and I found a whole bunch of random things that I didn’t even know existed. Stories and songs I have written (do not remember writing songs, but in ’08 I did, and they’re actually not terrible), my quote book, and also a list of new year’s resolutions for last year. It’s totally crazy, but I read over the very modest list of three things, and for the first time in my life, I accomplished them all. I kept looking at them thinking that I must have been crazy when I selected those few things because they are things that are very easy for me now that we are in November. Didn’t I want a challenge back in January? Or was I just so sick of failing that I wanted to give myself a break? I went through my journal and started reading entries from this time last year, and I realized that in January, all three of those things seemed impossible to me. In my journal I wrote, “there’s no way I’m going to accomplish any of these”. I am still blown away that I did it, and even though the changes that those three goals brought about are small, they are extremely significant in my life. It kind of makes me excited to set three new goals for 2011, now that I know I’m capable of achieving them. I’m going to try to be realistic though. (Ex-nay on wishing to lose 50 pounds.)
Thanksgiving is here, Christmas will be along shortly, and then it’s new year’s eve. I honestly cannot handle how fast time flies. I swear, I’ll blink and be fifty. Hopefully not living alone, dressed in a mumu surrounded by cats.
11.24.2010
10.13.2010
words like girls get bored and run...
The internet is a curious thing. I actually think it’s a great invention, so much good comes from it, but sometimes it’s hard to know if the people you come in contact with are genuine or not. Sincerity is sometimes lost between emails and comments. At any rate, I received a curious message in my facebook inbox this morning. Upon reading it I became overwhelmed with gratitude and humility. After reading it a second time, I find myself wondering if it is some kind of joke or fake message going out to everyone or something. I’ve decided to share it here because well, if it is real, it’s pretty incredible. And if it isn’t real, then… it still kind of made me feel like I’ve done something good in the world. So, I think it’s kind of win-win. The message reads as follows:
Hi Gabrielle,
I just wanted to tell you that I absolutely love your blog! I can relate to so many things you have mentioned. At some point or another, I felt exactly the same way you have. And in reply to the post in which you have mentioned that you want to be a professional writer, I truly believe you should be one because you ARE an awesome writer!
Reading your posts have brought a lot of positive change in my life so Thank you so much and keep writing.
So I’ve left the name off of the letter, for privacy reasons. You know, in case this person IS real and really does read my blog. I don’t mean to insult him/her in any way. I’m incredibly flattered and kind of dumbfounded that a person like this exists in the world, and I’m grateful that they would take the time to write to me. These words have inspired me to keep writing and to keep sharing. I keep hidden so much of what I write out of fear, and this pushes me to maybe not be so afraid when I have something to say.
I’m still baffled a little bit. I didn’t really think that anyone reads what I write, and I certainly didn’t think that it made an impression on anyone. It makes me wonder how many anonymous readers are out there. I'm curious how readers find me, and even more curious why they keep coming back.
I don't have any answers, obviously. Just a bunch of questions. Thank you, though. If you’re reading this. Wherever you are, whoever you are. Thank you.
Hi Gabrielle,
I just wanted to tell you that I absolutely love your blog! I can relate to so many things you have mentioned. At some point or another, I felt exactly the same way you have. And in reply to the post in which you have mentioned that you want to be a professional writer, I truly believe you should be one because you ARE an awesome writer!
Reading your posts have brought a lot of positive change in my life so Thank you so much and keep writing.
So I’ve left the name off of the letter, for privacy reasons. You know, in case this person IS real and really does read my blog. I don’t mean to insult him/her in any way. I’m incredibly flattered and kind of dumbfounded that a person like this exists in the world, and I’m grateful that they would take the time to write to me. These words have inspired me to keep writing and to keep sharing. I keep hidden so much of what I write out of fear, and this pushes me to maybe not be so afraid when I have something to say.
I’m still baffled a little bit. I didn’t really think that anyone reads what I write, and I certainly didn’t think that it made an impression on anyone. It makes me wonder how many anonymous readers are out there. I'm curious how readers find me, and even more curious why they keep coming back.
I don't have any answers, obviously. Just a bunch of questions. Thank you, though. If you’re reading this. Wherever you are, whoever you are. Thank you.
8.23.2010
so long, sweet summer.
"so long sweet summer
i stumbled upon you and gratefully basked in your rays.
so long sweet slumber
i fell into you, now you're gracefully falling away"
i stumbled upon you and gratefully basked in your rays.
so long sweet slumber
i fell into you, now you're gracefully falling away"
summertime makes me remember. I have a keen memory, sometimes it seems that I am always remembering. It’s a blessing and a curse really, a “heavy is the head” sort of fandango. Anyways, in the summer, my remembering seems more intense. i wonder why this is? maybe it's the heat. heat stimulates growth, and remembering is part of growing. or maybe it's just so hot that i become delirious. who knows really? not me. Lately I’ve been flooded with random memories from my youth. handstand contests in the pool while "i'll never get over you (getting over me)" by expose plays on the boombox.
"as long as the stars shine bright from the heavens,
as long as the rivers run to the sea,
i'll never get over you getting over me"
when i was young, i wondered what that meant. i think that i thought it was two sentences. Like, "i'll never get over you... i'm getting over me". now that i'm older (and inevitably wiser...) the lyrics make a bit more sense as I realize now that it’s just one sentence and not two. i loved that song so much when i was little that i even bought the single on a cd. it was the first cd that i bought, but i don't consider it such bc it wasn't a full cd, just the single. the first full length cd i bought was TLC's "crazy sexy cool", which i bought primarily for their song "waterfalls" i think i ended up liking a few more songs though. the lyrics to "waterfalls" are: "don't go chasing waterfalls, please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you're used to". except if you're me, in 1994, you sing them like this: "don't go chasing waterfalls, listen to the rivers and they'll listen to you, too". i remember specifically eating wendy's one day in the back of our 1993 honda civic (which my mother now tells me was an accord. So much for my fantastic memory), singing that song and having my older cousin nichole tell me that those weren't the words. i didn't start singing the "correct" lyrics though. i've always done things my own way.
summer reminds me of doing drugs, which is odd because i never did drugs. in high school, most everyone around me did, which is maybe why the two go hand in hand. certain songs remind me of drugs. i think it's songs with haunting melodies mostly. almost anything by modest mouse, for example. i was trying to explain to my friend what i mean by that, and she said "i get it, like anything by bob marley". Not really. i wonder if what i mean and what i say will ever coincide. i wonder if i will ever find someone who knows what i mean even when i don't express myself correctly. i don't think there was a point to this except to say my summer days and nights in high school consisted of “drug songs”, and now just listening to them can make me feel drugged. i remember feeling scared. i remember feeling alone. i remember feeling cold even though it was hot out. i remember wallets made of duct tape, driving around with nowhere to go, and listening to soundtracks. in junior high and high school, i was obsessed with buying soundtracks. which is odd, because i never buy them now. "can't hardly wait" was my favourite for years. even now, when i put that cd on, i basically curl up in a ball and start crying. not really because i miss those times, because i don't think that i do. the crying comes more because i remember who i was back then. it's weird to even think that i am the same person today as I was back then.
things were always changing in the summer. i thought once i got out of high school the changes would stop, that things would become more consistent. but every summer I’m reminded that nothing gold can stay, that the things that i hold close to my heart often get taken away, absorbed by the glow of the summer sun. unfortunately, it's not as romantic as it sounds.
are we doomed to recycle our friends? are friends forever? or are they just like clothes, expendable and forever rotating in and out of our lives? when i buy a shirt, i never think about when i'll have to throw it out, although inevitably that day comes. One day, I will get a rush of insanity, of obsessive compulsive disorder. I’ll get a trash bag and go through my closet, rifling through clothes and pulling out the ones that I allow myself to get rid of. every once in a while i'll come across an item that is hard for me to toss out. A black hoodie, or a tshirt that i wore when i hung out with someone i loved. sometimes i haven't worn the item in years. even still, i tuck it in the back of my closet, hoping one day it will fit me again. thinking maybe one day it will be relevant in my life, and that i'll want to wear it. if clothes are like friendships, or friendships like clothes, it’s true that there are some friendships i can't throw out. Every once in a while I’ll go through my life and rifle through the unnecessary or unused people and get rid of them. There are times when I come across a person who is hard to throw out. I consider it, but then decide to tuck them away in the back of my closet where they’ll remain, waiting to be relevant, waiting to be current, waiting to be needed. it's not something i wear anymore, but it will always be important to me. are friends like clothes, forever changing with the seasons to adjust to changes in taste? i want to believe that isn't true. i want to believe it so badly.
deep down, i know i'm singing the wrong lyrics.
7.21.2010
word of the day: WEARY.
Two very loud, very “unique” patients are in my waiting room discussing (very loudly) the twilight series. (I’m looking around for satan, as this is obviously hell) I’m trying to not add my two cents, because if I do, it probably won’t be very nice. Fun as it would be to shut them down, I don’t need the bad karma right now. As I’m answering the phone, one of the patient’s son yells out, “Who is she talking to?!” I think he thought I was just another crazy person, talking to myself. About five minutes pass before he speaks again, and when he does he says to his mom, “it must make her weary”
-“what are you talking about?”
-“answering the phone like that all the time… it must make her weary.”
I like the way this kid thinks.
He looks at me and says “I’m sorry that you get weary at times. I wonder when your shift ends?”
Some days, my friend, it seems like my shift never ends.
-“what are you talking about?”
-“answering the phone like that all the time… it must make her weary.”
I like the way this kid thinks.
He looks at me and says “I’m sorry that you get weary at times. I wonder when your shift ends?”
Some days, my friend, it seems like my shift never ends.
5.24.2010
This is a story about nothing, no one, and nowhere in particular.
Dear friend,
I am young today. Maybe I am three, maybe I am five. My days are long and warm and good. My nights are peaceful and quiet. I sing, I sing all day long. I tell jokes. I make them up myself.
Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Bushes.
That’s one I just thought of now. Don’t you love it, friend? I think it is hilarious. Do you know what I like, friend? I like purple soda. It has a picture of grapes on the can. It tastes like grapes but not really, it tastes like fake grapes. Don’t tell anyone but fake grapes are better than real grapes. Fake grapes burn your throat as they go down. Fake grapes sparkle. I love swinging. Swinging is the best. It’s great if there is someone there to push me, but it’s even better when I can push myself. I can go higher and higher. I push my legs back and forth and watch the ground get farther away from me, then close again. Far, then close, far, then close. Sometimes I think maybe when I get really high I can jump off. Nope, too risky. Someday I’ll jump. Someday I’ll risk it. Not today though. It’s definitely too risky today.
I discovered something today, my friend. It was a very magical thing. I am smiling right now just thinking about it. It’s giving me butterflies in my stomach! Have you ever heard of that, of butterflies being in your stomach? That is the best feeling. My butterflies come to me when I am very excited about something, or when I close my eyes and spin really fast. Shall I tell you what I discovered? I will! I will tell you because I love you, friend, and I always share my best things with those I love. The beautiful lady and I are sitting at my table drinking the burning purple grapes. I tell Beauty one of my jokes. It is a really funny one, better than the bushes one I told you before. The beautiful one laughs and touches my hair, taps my nose with her finger. You are my sunshine, she tells me and she smiles the most beautiful smile in all of the world. I feel warm and happy, like the sun is shining down on me so bright, like I will never be happier than this. I take a sip of the fizzy sparkly grapes and something not too great happens. I spill a bit of the liquid gold that I love so much. It rolls off of the table onto the white carpet. I watch it drip, drip, drip. I watch the purple on the clean, white get bigger and bigger. The beautiful one hops out of her chair lickety split and grabs a towel. She brings it over and covers the evidence, soaking up the precious purple juice. I am going to tell you something now that I am not too happy about telling you, alright? I’m going to tell you what happened next because we are friends and I love you. I know you love me too and that you will be careful with what I am about to tell you. I know that you won’t say anything to anyone else. While the beautiful one wipes up my mess, I cry. Stop crying, I beg myself, but I don’t listen. I can’t help it. I am scared and I am sad about hurting the white carpet with my purple mess. I don’t like crying, it gives away my tears. Tears are dangerous, friend. You must be careful with your tears. Once people see them, they never treat you the same. I didn’t want the beautiful one to be mad at me. Beauty is so great though; do you want to know why? Because she always does the right thing, and she always knows what makes things better. Beauty looked at me and smiled her beautiful smile. Don’t worry sunshine. That’s what she said as she wiped away my tears. Even though I loved the way her fingers felt on my face, I worried about her handling my tears like that. I worried about her grabbing them and saving them and using them against me. When her fingers touched my tears I wondered what part of me she had taken, and where that part would go. Once my tears fall, are they no longer mine? I wondered if she could read my mind now, or maybe she would start telling my jokes. Would my words be her words? Would she start loving grape soda the way I love it so? Would she sing all day the way I do? What Beauty said next was the most magical thing I had ever heard. Do you want to know, friend? I know you want to know and that is why I will tell you. She said it will be our little secret. A secret! Can you believe it, friend? I have a shared secret with the beautiful one! I said the word out loud just to make sure I hadn’t made it up. Secret. It is the best word I’ve ever heard! The butterflies come again and I start thinking about secrets, and who might have them. I bet everyone has them, and not just one. I bet everyone has hundreds of secrets. Not me, I only have this secret. Just one but it is the best one ever because it is shared between me and Beauty. I start to wonder how I can catch these secrets, how I can make them mine. The butterflies stay.
When the strong one came home, he kissed the beautiful one and patted my head, and ruffled my hair. He didn’t even notice the purple mistake. And Mrs. Beautiful winked at me. Because she knew that Little Miss Sunshine had a secret.
I’m not completely sure what a secret is yet, but I know I want more of them. I want to have hundreds, probably thousands. I wonder when I will get another one. I wonder how I find them. How do I get someone to give me one? I think I must be careful with my secrets though, friend. I need to keep mine for myself, and not give them away. It seems too risky, just like jumping when I am swinging so high. Secrets, like tears, are dangerous gems that fall without warning. I must put an extra layer on so that nothing falls until I want it to.
I will tell you something for free, friend. I barely know what a secret is, but I know that I will be good at keeping them. I know that I will have many of my very own. I am promising myself that I will tell them to no one. I will keep my tears to myself. It is better this way.
Dear friend,
I am nine now, friend. Can you believe it? I am nine now, and the beautiful one still loves me. She handles me with care. I still sing, and I still love purple soda pop. I still feel the butterflies. I swing still but I don’t need a push anymore. I can do it all by myself. I haven’t jumped yet, it’s not time. It will be time soon though I think. My armor is getting stronger. I have to make sure that it is strong enough to stand against a fall though. I cannot risk my tears.
Since the day with the carpet, I have not showed the beautiful one my tears, even though there are times when I really want to. The strong one still comes home, still holds me, still protects me. But no one has my tears. They are protected by me. I hide them. I love something else now, friend. I love stories. The beautiful one tells the best stories. She laughs when she is supposed to and cries when she is supposed to and she gives the characters different voices. Some are loud and scary, for the giants and ogres; others are small and quiet for the mice and the birds. She runs and jumps and swings me around. We become the characters. We are strong and brave, we are beautiful and kind, we are loud and we are quiet. We sing songs, most of which are songs I have made up right there on the spot. We live other people’s lives until the strong one comes and tells us it is time for sleep. Sometimes we stop after being told just once, but most of the time we laugh and keep going until the strong one is laughing too. On the best nights, the strong one joins us. He becomes the giant, stretching his arms up and changing his voice. He takes me from Beauty’s arms but I am not afraid. The strong one would never hurt me. He lifts me so high that I touch the ceiling with my fingertips. I touch it as gently as Mrs. Beautiful touched my face that day with the tears. I take the ceilings tears, and save them for later. The strong one places me in my bed and does the covers tight just how I like them. This is where I start doing something else that I am really great at. I start pretending. I pretend I am asleep. Beauty kisses me and whispers that I am her sunshine forever and always. Mr. strong whispers to me, it’s something silly. He is testing me to see if I am faking. I am faking but he’ll never know it. I don’t crack a smile. I am a great pretender I have decided. One day I will see if I can make a career out of pretending. I know deep down that I must be a good pretender. Beauty and Strong have to think I am sleeping. They stand over me and watch me, I can feel them. I can feel their smiles. I must remain ever so still, so that maybe I can take beauty and strength for myself. I must be strong and I must be beautiful. I must be funny. I must be brave. I must jump.
I have a secret for you, friend. I am scared. If I am not strong or brave, funny or beautiful, then am I anyone? If I do not jump, then what do I do? Can I swing forever?
I go to school and I try to make friends. I talk to people, I smile at them. They don’t smile back. I walk up to a group of girls and they walk away. I try with all kinds of people, not just the popular ones. Play on your own and they’ll come to you, Beauty says. I try that, but no one comes. Don’t they know that I am funny? Don’t they want to hear my jokes? Do they know that I am the beautiful one’s sunshine? Do they know how high I can swing? I wonder if they know about the purple stain. That’s impossible, right friend? That is a special secret, one that no one knows. I wonder if they know that I cry. I wonder if my tears fall purple down my white face. I have to stop. No one can know, I promised myself. I promised that I would keep that secret. No one can know that I cry. I catch my tears and put them away. Not now, little guys. You stay put until I come get you. You stay put now, you hear? Tears are tricky things. You can’t let them get away with too much.
Dear friend,
I am older now, friend. I am thirteen, to be exact. Isn’t that a magical age? I am wiser now too, but I hope that I haven’t reached my limit on the wise side of things because there are still a lot of things that I don’t understand. I don’t need bedtime stories anymore, which is for the best since Beauty doesn’t have time to tell them and Strong is gone most nights. Nights are my favorite time. I don’t sleep well, friend. Sometimes I don’t sleep at all. But I am still a good pretender, and nights are when I pretend best. Long after Beauty thinks I have fallen asleep she comes in my room and sits on my floor. I love the moon in these moments, friend, because it lights Beauty up so perfectly. The moon knows Beauty really well it seems, because his light hits her in all the right places. Beauty is older now and even though she never says anything, she is tired I can tell. But she is still beautiful, and I am still her sunshine. In these moments when beauty thinks I am asleep she tells me her secrets. Sometimes I think she is telling the moon, too. Maybe that is why the moon knows Beauty’s face so well. She trusts the moon as much as she trusts me, and for a moment I am jealous of the moon. He gets to see everything that I cannot. He has his watchful eye on everyone during the best time which is night. I think to myself about how I might get secrets from the moon. What would I have to do to get him to confide in me? Beauty can never know that I don’t sleep or else she would worry about me. She definitely can not know that I am awake when she sneaks into my room at night, or else she would stop doing it. She would find someone else to tell her secrets to. Do you see now why I must be such a great pretender, friend? Beauty needs me, and I must be there for her. In the quiet of the night I find out things about Beauty that no one else knows. Beauty is scared. Beauty is lonely. Beauty is heartbroken. Beauty cries. She lets her tears fall freely. I try not to flinch as they hit the floor, but I can’t help it. It’s so dangerous. Isn’t she worried that I will find them? Beauty misses Strong, and she worries about him. Beauty wants a brother for me. We had one, once. Strong, Beauty, Sunshine, and Charming. A Perfect family. We were perfect. We were happy. But Charming went away. She cries when she tells me and the moon about Charming. She sings to me, she sings to the moon, she sings to Charming. When she starts singing to Charming, I am so sad that I can’t do anything except hope that Charming can hear her. I turn in my bed so carefully and so quietly so that Beauty doesn’t see. I turn away from her so I can cry too. I cry for Beauty, I cry for Strong, I cry for Charming. My purple tears fall on my white pillow. The wall sees me but I don’t care about the wall. I miss Beauty’s stories. I miss singing. I miss Charming. Beauty misses him too. I know Strong does, but he won’t tell me. He doesn’t whisper things to me anymore, doesn’t lift me up to touch the ceiling. I forgot what the ceiling feels like, so I once climbed on a chair and tried to reach it on my own. I wasn’t tall enough. I stretched and reached, but it wasn’t enough. Alone, I wasn’t enough. Will I ever be enough, friend? Will I ever feel the ceiling again? I looked below and wanted to jump, but I am not ready for jumps yet. Sometimes I feel like at thirteen I should be ready for jumps. Maybe I am just a slow learner. I teeter on the edge for a moment, trying to get the courage to step off.
Beauty found me on the chair and pulled me down. She told me that she didn’t like me up so high. Can’t I just stay out of trouble for one day? Knock, knock I said, but Beauty wasn’t interested. Not now, she says. But if not now, when?
These nights with Beauty have taught me how to be quiet and how to listen. I need to remember to add “listening” to my list of things I am great at. At school I have no friends but I am quiet and I listen. I catch secrets all day long. You wouldn’t believe what people say when they think no one is around, friend! I write them down sometimes, to save them for later. Sometimes I hear them and just let them go because they aren’t worth it. But the good ones I save for later. I think that reading them might make me brave. Reading them will make me smart. Other people’s secrets will make me strong.
Secrets don’t make friends, is what I hear teachers say. What nonsense. Without secrets, how can you make friends? Secrets make perfect friends, secrets make BEST friends. Sometimes I wonder if I don’t have anyone to tell my secrets to, how can I have any friends? If a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to see it, does it make a sound?
If my tears fall on my pillow and there’s no one there to see them, do they exist? Do they mean anything at all?
Dear friend,
It is me again. I’ve missed you. I am old now, older than I have ever been, but younger than I will be next time I speak to you. I am seventeen. Seventeen should probably be my most magical year, but I hope that isn’t the case, because I don’t feel very magical. I don’t tell jokes anymore, mostly because no one listens. Sometimes I will think of a really good one and tell it to myself, I will even get a good laugh out of it, but then I just feel stupid. Who laughs at their own jokes? If secrets really don’t make friends, I wonder if jokes do. I sing sometimes, but mostly just in my head. Noise irritates Beauty, and Strong doesn’t have time. I have a friend now, and she is what I would call “best”, but she doesn’t feel best. I know a lot of her secrets. Most of them make me sick. At first, I loved collecting them from her. Guess who I love, she would ask me. Guess what I want to be when I grow up? These are the kind of secrets I love. The ones I don’t love so much, the ones that make me sick, are the ones that say guess who I kissed? Guess who is in love with me? Guess who I have seen naked? And even worse, guess who has seen me naked? It was around this time that I made a new partner called jealousy. Who is this girl gaining all these secrets? How is she so lucky? My secrets pale in comparison to hers. I am sad most of the time, unless I am with Best. When I am with Best, I am at my happiest and my saddest at the same time. I am such a great pretender that I don’t know which one I am pretending. When Best would tell me her dark secrets, I would get butterflies in my stomach. This is when I learned that butterflies didn’t always mean happiness. Sometimes butterflies mean scared, or lonely, and in those times I call them bats. When I am around Best I almost always have bats in my stomach.
Beauty is sad now and strong is tired. I can’t even remember what the ceiling feels like or what Beauty’s voices sound like when she tells stories. Beauty stays out of my room now. Sometimes I wonder if she figured out that I was pretending to be asleep all those nights in my room. She never touches my cheek or whispers her secrets to me. I know she still has them though. I hear her sometimes telling them to the phone. Purple hits the carpet then. It stains my cheeks. I thought I was her sunshine. I wonder if the moon is as sad as I am about this change.
I haven’t gone swinging in years but I went today. I pumped myself higher and higher until I could see the tops of the trees. This is the highest I have ever been and I was doing it all on my own. It is funny because all I wanted was for someone to be there to push me. Or at least to see how high up I was getting. If a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to hear it… I wanted to jump. I tried to jump. I couldn’t do it. I dropped purple gems down my cheeks until the swing stopped moving. I walked home alone.
Best has secrets and she has boyfriends. She even has the boyfriends that I wanted first. I let her have them though because I love her. I did let her have them, right? They didn’t choose her over me? I have so many secrets but I don’t have anyone to tell them to. I wish I had someone who wanted to know my secrets. I can’t feel sad for myself though. I have to be strong. I have to be funny. I make jokes, sometimes people laugh, and sometimes they don’t. It’s fifty-fifty. I am not fifty-fifty though. I am always consistent and I always laugh at my jokes. I will always think I am the funniest, probably because I will always be the funniest.
If a joke is told and nobody laughs, is it really a joke? I have stopped catching my tears. I don’t worry about anyone stealing them because nobody notices me anyways. In order for someone to steal them from me, they’d have to be watching me. The perks of being a wallflower: all of my tears are my own by default. I wonder if the moon can see me in this state, and I wonder if he tells anyone how I act at night. Once I asked him to look in on Best and tell me what she was doing with the boy who should have been mine. Moon just looked down at me and smiled that same smile. It’s a smile that I once thought was beautiful and mysterious but now I just think it is stupid and foolish. Sometimes I feel really very lonely even though I know that I am not. I know that I have Beauty and Strong and that they love me very much. I know that I have Best. But still sometimes it feels like I have no one. On those nights, I try to talk to the wall, but he doesn’t say anything back, probably because walls are stupid and boring. Probably because Wall wastes all of his time being jealous of Ceiling. But the real reason is probably because wall has seen all of my purple tears, and he can’t be bothered.
I am going to tell you a secret, friend. This is my deepest and darkest, and it is the thing I want most in the world. I want to kiss a boy. His name is Handsome and he is in one of my classes at school. He is amazing. Do you want to know what is so amazing about him? EVERYTHING. Sometimes it hurts to look at him. Even his hands are amazing. Can you imagine having amazing hands? I have caught myself on more than one occasion wondering how amazing his feet must be. I want him to wear sandals one day so I can get a peek. Handsome smiles at me a lot. He laughs at my jokes sometimes. He even noticed when I changed my hair, he even told me that he loved it. I couldn’t help myself then, the butterflies came over me and I smiled so big that I giggled. One time he asked to borrow a pen from me. He put the cap in his mouth, I watched him. I keep that pen in my pocket now, I think I will keep it forever. I might use it one day for a love spell. I love handsome so much that my body aches. I think the only thing that would make the aching stop is if handsome held me in his arms, or even just touched me. On our way out the door once he ran into me and knocked my books over. He grabbed my hand and I died a little bit inside, but in a good way. He asked me if I was ok and I couldn’t make any words come out. I wanted to be lovely and charming but all I could say was knock, knock because I knew for sure that I was good at telling jokes. Handsome laughed and said that maybe I should get my head checked. He did the most unfair thing in the world at that moment. He winked at me! And then he just walked away. How awful is life if winks from amazing boys are followed by goodbyes?
Sometimes at night, when I cry my purple tears, I imagine that Handsome is holding me so tight and wiping my tears away. I imagine that his lips are next to my ears. I pretend that he whispers to me. Everything is going to be just fine. I’m here now. I will never leave you. And I believe him because I love him more than life. The greatest thing is, I don’t even care if handsome sees my tears! I want him to see my tears, but not so much that I would go up to him and start crying or anything like that. In the quiet of my room with just the moon watching, I tell Handsome that I love him and that I would do anything for him. I show handsome my tears. He must like purple because he smiles when he sees them. I tell handsome my jokes and he laughs. Handsome gets so close to me that his hair tickles my cheeks and the butterflies come bigger than I have ever felt them in my life. Handsome whispers that I am beautiful and that I am his sunshine. Then he whispers something funny just to make sure that I am not pretending to be asleep. Then handsome tells me his secrets. The moon laughs and shakes his head at my make believe. I ask the moon if he can please tell me what Handsome is doing. I plead with him and I tell him that I want to know about Handsome’s secrets more than I ever wanted to know about what Best was up to. But that old moon just looks down at me with that smile that is both accepting of my mess and disapproving of it. The last thing I remember doing before sleep comes is sticking my tongue out at the moon. I wake up lonely, with purple stains on my pillow. Handsome and the moon are nowhere to be found.
Dear friend,
It seems as though I will never be older than I am right now, but I know that is not true. I feel much older than I did the last time I wrote you, but I won’t give you a number. Guess what I have done since we last spoke, friend? I hope you are ready for butterflies because I have got enough for both of us. Since we last spoke, I have changed. I have grown, I have evolved. I have kissed. I have laughed. I have cried. I made friends. I fell in love. I have lost friends. I have let go. I have left people behind. I hope I am not the smartest that I will ever be, because I still have a lot of questions. I wonder if I will ever know how smart or pretty or funny I am. I wonder if I will ever truly appreciate myself. I wonder if I will ever think I am good enough.
I still cry, my friend, but not so much for myself anymore. I cry for the lonely and broken, for the beaten and the forgotten. I cry for Charming, my very own brother that I still miss. I cry for Beauty and Strong, and all the pain that they have felt and the time that we have lost. I worry a lot more these days, more than I ever have. I feel as though I am happier now than I have ever been, and happier than I ever will be, though I know that is not the case. I know that there is much more joy to come in my life.
Best is no longer in my life, though at times I wish she was. I wish she could see what I have become. Best, it turns out, wasn’t the best thing for me. Do you know who helped me realize that? Handsome did. Remember how I told you that I loved him so? I was so young but I felt it then. I can feel it now, as if I saw him for the first time just yesterday. I wonder if he knows. If you love someone and do not tell them, does that love count? Can they still feel it? I must remember to ask.
Are you wondering about Beauty, friend? Beauty is still the most beautiful thing in the world. She is prettier than any person or item or treasure or photograph or sunset or moon. Beauty smiles when she sees me, Beauty misses me. She tells me that sometimes she sleeps in my empty room, wishing I was still a young girl, wishing she could still hold me. I wonder if she can see my tears on my pillow. We talk on the phone every day. Sometimes Strong gets on the line, just to say something funny so I will laugh. I still laugh. I think I get my humor from him. knock, knock. Who’s there? Bushes. The bushes are always there. Each conversation with Beauty begins with “do you want to know a secret?”, an offer that I always accept. Our conversations end with “you are my sunshine, always and forever”. I can hear the tears in her voice, as I suspect she can hear the tears in mine, but we don’t hold them against each other. I’ll tell you a secret for free, tears don’t always mean sadness. Sometimes they mean happiness or love, and the people who love you won’t ever hold your tears against you.
Sometimes I imagine Strong lifting Beauty up so that she can touch the ceiling. I haven’t seen it myself and I wouldn’t believe it except that it comes from a very reliable source (the moon).
There was a time when the moon knew all of my secrets. Sometimes I think he still does. The moon knows me well. He sits outside my little house in the quiet of the night which is still my favorite time to be awake. He smiles at me as I sit in the rocking chair, holding her. I hold her gently and rock her softly and sing to her. I tell her my jokes. I nourish her and hold her tight. I listen to her breathing. I tell her that purple soda is the best taste in the world, and that driving in your own car listening to music is a perfectly acceptable way to spend a Friday night. I warn her about jumps and about secrets and about bests. Even though I warn her about secrets, I give her all of mine. She is Stunning. Beauty and Strong think Stunning is perfect, and that’s because she is. She is the perfect mixture of Sunshine and Handsome, with a bit of Beauty and Strong. She will be funny like me, probably funnier. She will be kind like handsome. She will be beautiful and strong. When she is old enough I will tell her stories with all of the voices and Handsome will lift her high to the ceiling. She will be loved and happy and she will not be afraid to swing high all by herself, loosen her grip, and jump.
I don’t want to let her go but I do and when I do, I can see the moon smiling at her, like he knows something that I don’t and he probably does. After all, the moon knows what happens when a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it. The moon hears all of our words unspoken. The moon knows all of our secrets and sees all of our tears. And the moon loves us anyways.
I climb into my own bed and look at Handsome. I tell him a funny joke to see if he is faking. He is faking because he laughs. I am still the greatest pretender, but I don’t have to pretend much anymore. Handsome lifts up the covers and I climb underneath. I take his arms and I wrap them around me. I bury my face in his collarbone. I inhale, I smile. Handsome smells the very best. I feel his hands on my back and I know that I am safe. I know that Stunning is safe. Sometimes I think my name should be Lucky, because that is what I am. That is what we all are; Handsome, Stunning, and me. The Lucky Family. Sometimes I can’t believe that I have Handsome’s perfect hands in my life. Sometimes when he holds my hand I can’t help but laugh, and he asks me what is so funny. Bushes, I tell him. When we lie in bed, he is so close that his hair tickles my face as his lips hit my ears. He whispers the biggest, most incredible secrets to me. No one’s secrets are better than Handsome’s. Handsome’s secrets are the best because they are my secrets. He holds me tighter than I ever thought I would want to be held, as I tell him: your secret’s safe with me.
Things are perfect here in my house that is a home. It is a house filled with imperfections and mistakes and love and kindness. It is a house filled with sadness and happiness and greatness. It is a house where someone is always singing and the moon is always welcome. It is a house where no ceiling is too high, and no one is jealous. A house whose refrigerator is always filled with purple soda pop made from fake sparkly grapes. It is my house, it is my home. It is where I belong. It is where my secrets are told and kept, and my tears are wiped away and not used against me. It is a place where butterflies are just as welcome as bats, because it is important to know the difference. It is a home where nothing falls without notice, and all of my I love you's are heard.
It is a house that is a home with purple carpet.
(Inspiration for this story comes from my childhood, insomnia, a friend, and the songs “secrets”, “a house is not a home”, and “me and the moon”.)
I am young today. Maybe I am three, maybe I am five. My days are long and warm and good. My nights are peaceful and quiet. I sing, I sing all day long. I tell jokes. I make them up myself.
Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Bushes.
That’s one I just thought of now. Don’t you love it, friend? I think it is hilarious. Do you know what I like, friend? I like purple soda. It has a picture of grapes on the can. It tastes like grapes but not really, it tastes like fake grapes. Don’t tell anyone but fake grapes are better than real grapes. Fake grapes burn your throat as they go down. Fake grapes sparkle. I love swinging. Swinging is the best. It’s great if there is someone there to push me, but it’s even better when I can push myself. I can go higher and higher. I push my legs back and forth and watch the ground get farther away from me, then close again. Far, then close, far, then close. Sometimes I think maybe when I get really high I can jump off. Nope, too risky. Someday I’ll jump. Someday I’ll risk it. Not today though. It’s definitely too risky today.
I discovered something today, my friend. It was a very magical thing. I am smiling right now just thinking about it. It’s giving me butterflies in my stomach! Have you ever heard of that, of butterflies being in your stomach? That is the best feeling. My butterflies come to me when I am very excited about something, or when I close my eyes and spin really fast. Shall I tell you what I discovered? I will! I will tell you because I love you, friend, and I always share my best things with those I love. The beautiful lady and I are sitting at my table drinking the burning purple grapes. I tell Beauty one of my jokes. It is a really funny one, better than the bushes one I told you before. The beautiful one laughs and touches my hair, taps my nose with her finger. You are my sunshine, she tells me and she smiles the most beautiful smile in all of the world. I feel warm and happy, like the sun is shining down on me so bright, like I will never be happier than this. I take a sip of the fizzy sparkly grapes and something not too great happens. I spill a bit of the liquid gold that I love so much. It rolls off of the table onto the white carpet. I watch it drip, drip, drip. I watch the purple on the clean, white get bigger and bigger. The beautiful one hops out of her chair lickety split and grabs a towel. She brings it over and covers the evidence, soaking up the precious purple juice. I am going to tell you something now that I am not too happy about telling you, alright? I’m going to tell you what happened next because we are friends and I love you. I know you love me too and that you will be careful with what I am about to tell you. I know that you won’t say anything to anyone else. While the beautiful one wipes up my mess, I cry. Stop crying, I beg myself, but I don’t listen. I can’t help it. I am scared and I am sad about hurting the white carpet with my purple mess. I don’t like crying, it gives away my tears. Tears are dangerous, friend. You must be careful with your tears. Once people see them, they never treat you the same. I didn’t want the beautiful one to be mad at me. Beauty is so great though; do you want to know why? Because she always does the right thing, and she always knows what makes things better. Beauty looked at me and smiled her beautiful smile. Don’t worry sunshine. That’s what she said as she wiped away my tears. Even though I loved the way her fingers felt on my face, I worried about her handling my tears like that. I worried about her grabbing them and saving them and using them against me. When her fingers touched my tears I wondered what part of me she had taken, and where that part would go. Once my tears fall, are they no longer mine? I wondered if she could read my mind now, or maybe she would start telling my jokes. Would my words be her words? Would she start loving grape soda the way I love it so? Would she sing all day the way I do? What Beauty said next was the most magical thing I had ever heard. Do you want to know, friend? I know you want to know and that is why I will tell you. She said it will be our little secret. A secret! Can you believe it, friend? I have a shared secret with the beautiful one! I said the word out loud just to make sure I hadn’t made it up. Secret. It is the best word I’ve ever heard! The butterflies come again and I start thinking about secrets, and who might have them. I bet everyone has them, and not just one. I bet everyone has hundreds of secrets. Not me, I only have this secret. Just one but it is the best one ever because it is shared between me and Beauty. I start to wonder how I can catch these secrets, how I can make them mine. The butterflies stay.
When the strong one came home, he kissed the beautiful one and patted my head, and ruffled my hair. He didn’t even notice the purple mistake. And Mrs. Beautiful winked at me. Because she knew that Little Miss Sunshine had a secret.
I’m not completely sure what a secret is yet, but I know I want more of them. I want to have hundreds, probably thousands. I wonder when I will get another one. I wonder how I find them. How do I get someone to give me one? I think I must be careful with my secrets though, friend. I need to keep mine for myself, and not give them away. It seems too risky, just like jumping when I am swinging so high. Secrets, like tears, are dangerous gems that fall without warning. I must put an extra layer on so that nothing falls until I want it to.
I will tell you something for free, friend. I barely know what a secret is, but I know that I will be good at keeping them. I know that I will have many of my very own. I am promising myself that I will tell them to no one. I will keep my tears to myself. It is better this way.
Dear friend,
I am nine now, friend. Can you believe it? I am nine now, and the beautiful one still loves me. She handles me with care. I still sing, and I still love purple soda pop. I still feel the butterflies. I swing still but I don’t need a push anymore. I can do it all by myself. I haven’t jumped yet, it’s not time. It will be time soon though I think. My armor is getting stronger. I have to make sure that it is strong enough to stand against a fall though. I cannot risk my tears.
Since the day with the carpet, I have not showed the beautiful one my tears, even though there are times when I really want to. The strong one still comes home, still holds me, still protects me. But no one has my tears. They are protected by me. I hide them. I love something else now, friend. I love stories. The beautiful one tells the best stories. She laughs when she is supposed to and cries when she is supposed to and she gives the characters different voices. Some are loud and scary, for the giants and ogres; others are small and quiet for the mice and the birds. She runs and jumps and swings me around. We become the characters. We are strong and brave, we are beautiful and kind, we are loud and we are quiet. We sing songs, most of which are songs I have made up right there on the spot. We live other people’s lives until the strong one comes and tells us it is time for sleep. Sometimes we stop after being told just once, but most of the time we laugh and keep going until the strong one is laughing too. On the best nights, the strong one joins us. He becomes the giant, stretching his arms up and changing his voice. He takes me from Beauty’s arms but I am not afraid. The strong one would never hurt me. He lifts me so high that I touch the ceiling with my fingertips. I touch it as gently as Mrs. Beautiful touched my face that day with the tears. I take the ceilings tears, and save them for later. The strong one places me in my bed and does the covers tight just how I like them. This is where I start doing something else that I am really great at. I start pretending. I pretend I am asleep. Beauty kisses me and whispers that I am her sunshine forever and always. Mr. strong whispers to me, it’s something silly. He is testing me to see if I am faking. I am faking but he’ll never know it. I don’t crack a smile. I am a great pretender I have decided. One day I will see if I can make a career out of pretending. I know deep down that I must be a good pretender. Beauty and Strong have to think I am sleeping. They stand over me and watch me, I can feel them. I can feel their smiles. I must remain ever so still, so that maybe I can take beauty and strength for myself. I must be strong and I must be beautiful. I must be funny. I must be brave. I must jump.
I have a secret for you, friend. I am scared. If I am not strong or brave, funny or beautiful, then am I anyone? If I do not jump, then what do I do? Can I swing forever?
I go to school and I try to make friends. I talk to people, I smile at them. They don’t smile back. I walk up to a group of girls and they walk away. I try with all kinds of people, not just the popular ones. Play on your own and they’ll come to you, Beauty says. I try that, but no one comes. Don’t they know that I am funny? Don’t they want to hear my jokes? Do they know that I am the beautiful one’s sunshine? Do they know how high I can swing? I wonder if they know about the purple stain. That’s impossible, right friend? That is a special secret, one that no one knows. I wonder if they know that I cry. I wonder if my tears fall purple down my white face. I have to stop. No one can know, I promised myself. I promised that I would keep that secret. No one can know that I cry. I catch my tears and put them away. Not now, little guys. You stay put until I come get you. You stay put now, you hear? Tears are tricky things. You can’t let them get away with too much.
Dear friend,
I am older now, friend. I am thirteen, to be exact. Isn’t that a magical age? I am wiser now too, but I hope that I haven’t reached my limit on the wise side of things because there are still a lot of things that I don’t understand. I don’t need bedtime stories anymore, which is for the best since Beauty doesn’t have time to tell them and Strong is gone most nights. Nights are my favorite time. I don’t sleep well, friend. Sometimes I don’t sleep at all. But I am still a good pretender, and nights are when I pretend best. Long after Beauty thinks I have fallen asleep she comes in my room and sits on my floor. I love the moon in these moments, friend, because it lights Beauty up so perfectly. The moon knows Beauty really well it seems, because his light hits her in all the right places. Beauty is older now and even though she never says anything, she is tired I can tell. But she is still beautiful, and I am still her sunshine. In these moments when beauty thinks I am asleep she tells me her secrets. Sometimes I think she is telling the moon, too. Maybe that is why the moon knows Beauty’s face so well. She trusts the moon as much as she trusts me, and for a moment I am jealous of the moon. He gets to see everything that I cannot. He has his watchful eye on everyone during the best time which is night. I think to myself about how I might get secrets from the moon. What would I have to do to get him to confide in me? Beauty can never know that I don’t sleep or else she would worry about me. She definitely can not know that I am awake when she sneaks into my room at night, or else she would stop doing it. She would find someone else to tell her secrets to. Do you see now why I must be such a great pretender, friend? Beauty needs me, and I must be there for her. In the quiet of the night I find out things about Beauty that no one else knows. Beauty is scared. Beauty is lonely. Beauty is heartbroken. Beauty cries. She lets her tears fall freely. I try not to flinch as they hit the floor, but I can’t help it. It’s so dangerous. Isn’t she worried that I will find them? Beauty misses Strong, and she worries about him. Beauty wants a brother for me. We had one, once. Strong, Beauty, Sunshine, and Charming. A Perfect family. We were perfect. We were happy. But Charming went away. She cries when she tells me and the moon about Charming. She sings to me, she sings to the moon, she sings to Charming. When she starts singing to Charming, I am so sad that I can’t do anything except hope that Charming can hear her. I turn in my bed so carefully and so quietly so that Beauty doesn’t see. I turn away from her so I can cry too. I cry for Beauty, I cry for Strong, I cry for Charming. My purple tears fall on my white pillow. The wall sees me but I don’t care about the wall. I miss Beauty’s stories. I miss singing. I miss Charming. Beauty misses him too. I know Strong does, but he won’t tell me. He doesn’t whisper things to me anymore, doesn’t lift me up to touch the ceiling. I forgot what the ceiling feels like, so I once climbed on a chair and tried to reach it on my own. I wasn’t tall enough. I stretched and reached, but it wasn’t enough. Alone, I wasn’t enough. Will I ever be enough, friend? Will I ever feel the ceiling again? I looked below and wanted to jump, but I am not ready for jumps yet. Sometimes I feel like at thirteen I should be ready for jumps. Maybe I am just a slow learner. I teeter on the edge for a moment, trying to get the courage to step off.
Beauty found me on the chair and pulled me down. She told me that she didn’t like me up so high. Can’t I just stay out of trouble for one day? Knock, knock I said, but Beauty wasn’t interested. Not now, she says. But if not now, when?
These nights with Beauty have taught me how to be quiet and how to listen. I need to remember to add “listening” to my list of things I am great at. At school I have no friends but I am quiet and I listen. I catch secrets all day long. You wouldn’t believe what people say when they think no one is around, friend! I write them down sometimes, to save them for later. Sometimes I hear them and just let them go because they aren’t worth it. But the good ones I save for later. I think that reading them might make me brave. Reading them will make me smart. Other people’s secrets will make me strong.
Secrets don’t make friends, is what I hear teachers say. What nonsense. Without secrets, how can you make friends? Secrets make perfect friends, secrets make BEST friends. Sometimes I wonder if I don’t have anyone to tell my secrets to, how can I have any friends? If a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to see it, does it make a sound?
If my tears fall on my pillow and there’s no one there to see them, do they exist? Do they mean anything at all?
Dear friend,
It is me again. I’ve missed you. I am old now, older than I have ever been, but younger than I will be next time I speak to you. I am seventeen. Seventeen should probably be my most magical year, but I hope that isn’t the case, because I don’t feel very magical. I don’t tell jokes anymore, mostly because no one listens. Sometimes I will think of a really good one and tell it to myself, I will even get a good laugh out of it, but then I just feel stupid. Who laughs at their own jokes? If secrets really don’t make friends, I wonder if jokes do. I sing sometimes, but mostly just in my head. Noise irritates Beauty, and Strong doesn’t have time. I have a friend now, and she is what I would call “best”, but she doesn’t feel best. I know a lot of her secrets. Most of them make me sick. At first, I loved collecting them from her. Guess who I love, she would ask me. Guess what I want to be when I grow up? These are the kind of secrets I love. The ones I don’t love so much, the ones that make me sick, are the ones that say guess who I kissed? Guess who is in love with me? Guess who I have seen naked? And even worse, guess who has seen me naked? It was around this time that I made a new partner called jealousy. Who is this girl gaining all these secrets? How is she so lucky? My secrets pale in comparison to hers. I am sad most of the time, unless I am with Best. When I am with Best, I am at my happiest and my saddest at the same time. I am such a great pretender that I don’t know which one I am pretending. When Best would tell me her dark secrets, I would get butterflies in my stomach. This is when I learned that butterflies didn’t always mean happiness. Sometimes butterflies mean scared, or lonely, and in those times I call them bats. When I am around Best I almost always have bats in my stomach.
Beauty is sad now and strong is tired. I can’t even remember what the ceiling feels like or what Beauty’s voices sound like when she tells stories. Beauty stays out of my room now. Sometimes I wonder if she figured out that I was pretending to be asleep all those nights in my room. She never touches my cheek or whispers her secrets to me. I know she still has them though. I hear her sometimes telling them to the phone. Purple hits the carpet then. It stains my cheeks. I thought I was her sunshine. I wonder if the moon is as sad as I am about this change.
I haven’t gone swinging in years but I went today. I pumped myself higher and higher until I could see the tops of the trees. This is the highest I have ever been and I was doing it all on my own. It is funny because all I wanted was for someone to be there to push me. Or at least to see how high up I was getting. If a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to hear it… I wanted to jump. I tried to jump. I couldn’t do it. I dropped purple gems down my cheeks until the swing stopped moving. I walked home alone.
Best has secrets and she has boyfriends. She even has the boyfriends that I wanted first. I let her have them though because I love her. I did let her have them, right? They didn’t choose her over me? I have so many secrets but I don’t have anyone to tell them to. I wish I had someone who wanted to know my secrets. I can’t feel sad for myself though. I have to be strong. I have to be funny. I make jokes, sometimes people laugh, and sometimes they don’t. It’s fifty-fifty. I am not fifty-fifty though. I am always consistent and I always laugh at my jokes. I will always think I am the funniest, probably because I will always be the funniest.
If a joke is told and nobody laughs, is it really a joke? I have stopped catching my tears. I don’t worry about anyone stealing them because nobody notices me anyways. In order for someone to steal them from me, they’d have to be watching me. The perks of being a wallflower: all of my tears are my own by default. I wonder if the moon can see me in this state, and I wonder if he tells anyone how I act at night. Once I asked him to look in on Best and tell me what she was doing with the boy who should have been mine. Moon just looked down at me and smiled that same smile. It’s a smile that I once thought was beautiful and mysterious but now I just think it is stupid and foolish. Sometimes I feel really very lonely even though I know that I am not. I know that I have Beauty and Strong and that they love me very much. I know that I have Best. But still sometimes it feels like I have no one. On those nights, I try to talk to the wall, but he doesn’t say anything back, probably because walls are stupid and boring. Probably because Wall wastes all of his time being jealous of Ceiling. But the real reason is probably because wall has seen all of my purple tears, and he can’t be bothered.
I am going to tell you a secret, friend. This is my deepest and darkest, and it is the thing I want most in the world. I want to kiss a boy. His name is Handsome and he is in one of my classes at school. He is amazing. Do you want to know what is so amazing about him? EVERYTHING. Sometimes it hurts to look at him. Even his hands are amazing. Can you imagine having amazing hands? I have caught myself on more than one occasion wondering how amazing his feet must be. I want him to wear sandals one day so I can get a peek. Handsome smiles at me a lot. He laughs at my jokes sometimes. He even noticed when I changed my hair, he even told me that he loved it. I couldn’t help myself then, the butterflies came over me and I smiled so big that I giggled. One time he asked to borrow a pen from me. He put the cap in his mouth, I watched him. I keep that pen in my pocket now, I think I will keep it forever. I might use it one day for a love spell. I love handsome so much that my body aches. I think the only thing that would make the aching stop is if handsome held me in his arms, or even just touched me. On our way out the door once he ran into me and knocked my books over. He grabbed my hand and I died a little bit inside, but in a good way. He asked me if I was ok and I couldn’t make any words come out. I wanted to be lovely and charming but all I could say was knock, knock because I knew for sure that I was good at telling jokes. Handsome laughed and said that maybe I should get my head checked. He did the most unfair thing in the world at that moment. He winked at me! And then he just walked away. How awful is life if winks from amazing boys are followed by goodbyes?
Sometimes at night, when I cry my purple tears, I imagine that Handsome is holding me so tight and wiping my tears away. I imagine that his lips are next to my ears. I pretend that he whispers to me. Everything is going to be just fine. I’m here now. I will never leave you. And I believe him because I love him more than life. The greatest thing is, I don’t even care if handsome sees my tears! I want him to see my tears, but not so much that I would go up to him and start crying or anything like that. In the quiet of my room with just the moon watching, I tell Handsome that I love him and that I would do anything for him. I show handsome my tears. He must like purple because he smiles when he sees them. I tell handsome my jokes and he laughs. Handsome gets so close to me that his hair tickles my cheeks and the butterflies come bigger than I have ever felt them in my life. Handsome whispers that I am beautiful and that I am his sunshine. Then he whispers something funny just to make sure that I am not pretending to be asleep. Then handsome tells me his secrets. The moon laughs and shakes his head at my make believe. I ask the moon if he can please tell me what Handsome is doing. I plead with him and I tell him that I want to know about Handsome’s secrets more than I ever wanted to know about what Best was up to. But that old moon just looks down at me with that smile that is both accepting of my mess and disapproving of it. The last thing I remember doing before sleep comes is sticking my tongue out at the moon. I wake up lonely, with purple stains on my pillow. Handsome and the moon are nowhere to be found.
Dear friend,
It seems as though I will never be older than I am right now, but I know that is not true. I feel much older than I did the last time I wrote you, but I won’t give you a number. Guess what I have done since we last spoke, friend? I hope you are ready for butterflies because I have got enough for both of us. Since we last spoke, I have changed. I have grown, I have evolved. I have kissed. I have laughed. I have cried. I made friends. I fell in love. I have lost friends. I have let go. I have left people behind. I hope I am not the smartest that I will ever be, because I still have a lot of questions. I wonder if I will ever know how smart or pretty or funny I am. I wonder if I will ever truly appreciate myself. I wonder if I will ever think I am good enough.
I still cry, my friend, but not so much for myself anymore. I cry for the lonely and broken, for the beaten and the forgotten. I cry for Charming, my very own brother that I still miss. I cry for Beauty and Strong, and all the pain that they have felt and the time that we have lost. I worry a lot more these days, more than I ever have. I feel as though I am happier now than I have ever been, and happier than I ever will be, though I know that is not the case. I know that there is much more joy to come in my life.
Best is no longer in my life, though at times I wish she was. I wish she could see what I have become. Best, it turns out, wasn’t the best thing for me. Do you know who helped me realize that? Handsome did. Remember how I told you that I loved him so? I was so young but I felt it then. I can feel it now, as if I saw him for the first time just yesterday. I wonder if he knows. If you love someone and do not tell them, does that love count? Can they still feel it? I must remember to ask.
Are you wondering about Beauty, friend? Beauty is still the most beautiful thing in the world. She is prettier than any person or item or treasure or photograph or sunset or moon. Beauty smiles when she sees me, Beauty misses me. She tells me that sometimes she sleeps in my empty room, wishing I was still a young girl, wishing she could still hold me. I wonder if she can see my tears on my pillow. We talk on the phone every day. Sometimes Strong gets on the line, just to say something funny so I will laugh. I still laugh. I think I get my humor from him. knock, knock. Who’s there? Bushes. The bushes are always there. Each conversation with Beauty begins with “do you want to know a secret?”, an offer that I always accept. Our conversations end with “you are my sunshine, always and forever”. I can hear the tears in her voice, as I suspect she can hear the tears in mine, but we don’t hold them against each other. I’ll tell you a secret for free, tears don’t always mean sadness. Sometimes they mean happiness or love, and the people who love you won’t ever hold your tears against you.
Sometimes I imagine Strong lifting Beauty up so that she can touch the ceiling. I haven’t seen it myself and I wouldn’t believe it except that it comes from a very reliable source (the moon).
There was a time when the moon knew all of my secrets. Sometimes I think he still does. The moon knows me well. He sits outside my little house in the quiet of the night which is still my favorite time to be awake. He smiles at me as I sit in the rocking chair, holding her. I hold her gently and rock her softly and sing to her. I tell her my jokes. I nourish her and hold her tight. I listen to her breathing. I tell her that purple soda is the best taste in the world, and that driving in your own car listening to music is a perfectly acceptable way to spend a Friday night. I warn her about jumps and about secrets and about bests. Even though I warn her about secrets, I give her all of mine. She is Stunning. Beauty and Strong think Stunning is perfect, and that’s because she is. She is the perfect mixture of Sunshine and Handsome, with a bit of Beauty and Strong. She will be funny like me, probably funnier. She will be kind like handsome. She will be beautiful and strong. When she is old enough I will tell her stories with all of the voices and Handsome will lift her high to the ceiling. She will be loved and happy and she will not be afraid to swing high all by herself, loosen her grip, and jump.
I don’t want to let her go but I do and when I do, I can see the moon smiling at her, like he knows something that I don’t and he probably does. After all, the moon knows what happens when a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it. The moon hears all of our words unspoken. The moon knows all of our secrets and sees all of our tears. And the moon loves us anyways.
I climb into my own bed and look at Handsome. I tell him a funny joke to see if he is faking. He is faking because he laughs. I am still the greatest pretender, but I don’t have to pretend much anymore. Handsome lifts up the covers and I climb underneath. I take his arms and I wrap them around me. I bury my face in his collarbone. I inhale, I smile. Handsome smells the very best. I feel his hands on my back and I know that I am safe. I know that Stunning is safe. Sometimes I think my name should be Lucky, because that is what I am. That is what we all are; Handsome, Stunning, and me. The Lucky Family. Sometimes I can’t believe that I have Handsome’s perfect hands in my life. Sometimes when he holds my hand I can’t help but laugh, and he asks me what is so funny. Bushes, I tell him. When we lie in bed, he is so close that his hair tickles my face as his lips hit my ears. He whispers the biggest, most incredible secrets to me. No one’s secrets are better than Handsome’s. Handsome’s secrets are the best because they are my secrets. He holds me tighter than I ever thought I would want to be held, as I tell him: your secret’s safe with me.
Things are perfect here in my house that is a home. It is a house filled with imperfections and mistakes and love and kindness. It is a house filled with sadness and happiness and greatness. It is a house where someone is always singing and the moon is always welcome. It is a house where no ceiling is too high, and no one is jealous. A house whose refrigerator is always filled with purple soda pop made from fake sparkly grapes. It is my house, it is my home. It is where I belong. It is where my secrets are told and kept, and my tears are wiped away and not used against me. It is a place where butterflies are just as welcome as bats, because it is important to know the difference. It is a home where nothing falls without notice, and all of my I love you's are heard.
It is a house that is a home with purple carpet.
(Inspiration for this story comes from my childhood, insomnia, a friend, and the songs “secrets”, “a house is not a home”, and “me and the moon”.)
4.21.2010
closure.
"Ross... hi, it's Rachel. I'm just calling to say that... everything's fine, and I'm really happy for you, and your cat, who by the way I think you should name 'Michael'. So you see there, I'm thinking of names, so obviously I'm over you... I'm. Over. You. And that, my friend, is what they call 'closure'."
closure is a funny thing. i've just googled it, for research purposes, and i've noticed that no less than ten bands have songs with the word "closure" in the title. that doesn't even count the hundreds, probably thousands of songs that are written about closure. i don't know if there's a way to look that up, but i bet that number is up there pretty high. i've just been thinking about what closure is really; what it means. and how do i know i've achieved it?
i wish closure was a phonecall. i wish closure was a voice mail or a text message, or even an email. i wish closure was a picture. i wish closure was achieved when someone treated me poorly, even one time. i wish days away from someone equalled closure (once you reach "30", it's a done deal). i wish weeks away did. if it can't be days or weeks, then months and years. why is it that i can achieve closure with some people after one incident, while i hang onto others for years sometimes? i guess closure, like time, is a funny thing; when it comes right down to it, it's not really measured by numbers at all.
when friends was first shown on tv, i was pretty young. too young to understand everything that they were talking about, that's for sure, but one episode from my youth always stuck out to me. it was odd, but at times during my day, i would find myself reciting rachel's words in my head whenever i was "over" someone or something. "and THAT, my friend, is CUH-LOWSURE", i would say to myself, sometimes outloud. unfortunately, i've never had the chance to actually tell someone off to their face (i quite often tell people off, but they're never around to hear it), but if i ever do get the chance, i know for a fact that i'm going to end my rant with those words. in the episode, ross has just moved in with his new girfriend julie and rachel, in an attempt to move on from ross, goes on a date with michael (unsuspecting victim). she has a bit too much to drink, and ends up borrowing a cell phone to call ross in the middle of her date. she gets his machine and leaves a foolish, drunken message about her definition of closure. of course in the morning she remembers none of it, and it actually turns out that she definately is not over him. so i guess drunken phone messages don't mean closure either, not even in tv world.
it really is a chore being me, i'll tell you that for free. at times i make things harder than they have to be, and i am super critical of myself always. i'm not super obsessive over the person i like or anything, and i definately am not the crazy stalker girl who lurks facebook all day to see what people write on his page, but i do like to define things. i like to talk about things, and i definately need closure when it's over. if i am summing this up for you, i am basically a guy's worst nightmare (i am defining "guy" by example here. i can only go by what i know). in my experience, guys like to define almost nothing as far as relationships go ("it's just kissing, why does it have to mean something?"), talk about almost nothing that is bothering you, definately the "ignore it and it will go away" business (which NEVER works. i'll let you in on a secret, it doesn't go away, it festers and comes out three months later over dinner, sometimes in public.), and aren't really into the whole closure thing. it seems to me it's sort of a "when i'm done, i'm out" type of scenario. this, i can't handle. i'd rather have someone insult me to my face, and tell me that everything is my fault (even if it isn't). when that happens, it becomes very easy for me very quickly to let that person go. when there is no fight, and there is no blame, no name calling; when things just stop, for no reason at all, i have a very hard time letting go. i have a hard time accepting the "there's no reason" speech. i don't sit and think about that person all the time or anything, but when i don't have closure, a small part of me tends to still hold on to them. my grip isn't tight, it's soft and subtle, but it's still there. it's funny how i can go months without realizing it, but something always happens to remind me that i'm still holding on. i need to let go regardless of if the other person hasn't, but especially if they have. the thing about letting go, about closure, is it has nothing to do with the other person, and everything to do with yourself. i need to let go for me.
i have this scenario that plays in my mind often of me driving away from someone. anyone, really, in my thoughts they don't have a face. i am just driving, driving, further away. i can see them, still see them. they get smaller and smaller until i can't tell them from the rest of the scenery behind me. it all just blends together as part of where i used to be, part of my past. maybe closure is just that, driving away from someone and not looking back. maybe closure is looking forward. maybe closure is letting go, and not just loosening my grip. not a phonecall, or an insult, or even an event. maybe it's just opening my palm and letting them go until they become part of the scenery.
and that, my friends, is closure.
4.05.2010
breaking up is hard to do (but saying goodbye is harder)
"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard."
— A.A. Milne (Winnie-the-Pooh)
goodbyes are rough. i don't care how old i get, or how much "experience" i have in this area, they still absolutely tear me apart. it's part of the reason i don't dare move out of state, even though i want to so badly at times. i know i could never ever never say goodbye to my mother. since i am staying in one place, i have taken on the role of "the left behind". i have the wonderful task of watching everyone leave. the reasons differ (marriage, school, jobs, family, missions...), but the end result is always the same: people always leave. sometimes the only thing that dulls the sting of goodbyes (for me) is music. i find myself making mix cds more often than not lately, and i don't think that is a coincidence. i just wanted to jot a few of my favourites down here in case any of you have goodbyes to do.
1. a lack of colour- death cab for cutie.
2. aimee- damien rice.
3. blacking out the friction- death cab for cutie.
4. cautioners- jimmy eat world.
5. globes and maps- something corporate.
6. goodbye, goodnight- mae.
7. goodbye sky harbor- jimmy eat world.
8. hello goodbye- the beatles.
9. last of days- a fine frenzy.
10. long goodnight- the get up kids.
11. sleep- copeland.
12. so far away- carole king.
13. split screen sadness- john mayer.
14. what sarah said- death cab for cutie.
15. wheel- john mayer.
— A.A. Milne (Winnie-the-Pooh)
goodbyes are rough. i don't care how old i get, or how much "experience" i have in this area, they still absolutely tear me apart. it's part of the reason i don't dare move out of state, even though i want to so badly at times. i know i could never ever never say goodbye to my mother. since i am staying in one place, i have taken on the role of "the left behind". i have the wonderful task of watching everyone leave. the reasons differ (marriage, school, jobs, family, missions...), but the end result is always the same: people always leave. sometimes the only thing that dulls the sting of goodbyes (for me) is music. i find myself making mix cds more often than not lately, and i don't think that is a coincidence. i just wanted to jot a few of my favourites down here in case any of you have goodbyes to do.
1. a lack of colour- death cab for cutie.
2. aimee- damien rice.
3. blacking out the friction- death cab for cutie.
4. cautioners- jimmy eat world.
5. globes and maps- something corporate.
6. goodbye, goodnight- mae.
7. goodbye sky harbor- jimmy eat world.
8. hello goodbye- the beatles.
9. last of days- a fine frenzy.
10. long goodnight- the get up kids.
11. sleep- copeland.
12. so far away- carole king.
13. split screen sadness- john mayer.
14. what sarah said- death cab for cutie.
15. wheel- john mayer.
3.25.2010
goals and the people who make them
i was quite abitious on new year's eve when i made my list of things that i wanted to accomplish in 2010. here we are, near the end of march, and i've had to admit to myself that one; i'm not doing as well as i thought i would (2010 was going to be MY year!), and two; it may be time to start (yet again) renegotiating with myself. i.e. maybe i don't need to go to disneyland once a month. that's a harder reality to face when you foolishly purchased the year-round pass, i might add. i have to admit the pass looks pretty cool in my wallet, but i could've saved the money and just put a picture of snoopy in my wallet. he's pretty cool, right?
one of the goals that i have really been trying at is the losing weight goal. i am really looking forward to a time when this is not on my "things to accomplish this year" list. maybe it comes from having my foot in a cast for the first two months of the year, because i have to say i've never been more excited to work out than i was the day i took that stinky boot off. the point is, i've been doing really well the past month, and i'm pretty proud of myself. it almost makes up for the fact that i've not gone to disneyland yet. one of the funnest things for me about excercising is where my mind wanders while i'm working out. i think of alot of stuff during that time, it's almost as bad as when i am just about to fall asleep. you know how at night you get in this phase where you're nearly asleep but not quite, kind of like a zombie? that's how i am all night, i don't think i actually ever fall asleep, and my mind goes to the weirdest places. i start thinking about how weird it is that things like penguins and bananas exist in one minute, and then the next minute i'm thinking about how weird it is that babies live inside a woman's body for nine months, which of course leads me to think of being pregnant, which leads me to think about giving birth, which leads me to wonder if i will ever give birth, which leads me to wonder if i will ever get married, which leads me to wonder if i will ever have a boyfriend. ugh. it's exhausting, really. this is what my mind does all night, by the way, which is why i am never surprised when i wake up for work feeling like my head has been under water all night. (my favourite comment to recieve from a 7:00 patient in the morning is: "you look tired today." yes, this has happened more than once, and no, it isn't a compliment.)
i've been thinking alot lately about the stages of grief. some people say there are five stages, some people say there are seven, some people say there are ten. i think it is different for everyone. i may actually have twenty stages of greif. what can i say, i'm a recovering pack rat. five of anything just isn't enough. after researching, i have concluded that, for me (probably for most people) there are six stages of greif. today during my excercise time, i realized that these particular stages apply to excercise as well. maybe that's because excercising gives me grief (no disrespect to grief intended).
stage one: denial.
i don't really need to work out. going to the gym just isn't for me.
stage two: guilt.
i feel like crap for not excercising today. why am i so lazy? what did i do instead that was so much more important? oh that's right, i watched two episodes of dawson's creek (this may or may not be my life at the moment).
stage three: anger.
i hate working out. i hate sweating. why do i have to work out when so-and-so doesn't? why can't i just have better metabolism? i hate working out!
stage four: bargaining.
i'll just run twice around the block. i'll skip today and just eat cotton balls soaked in orange juice tomorrow (do. not. try.). meh, twenty minutes is enough for today.
stage five: depression.
i look like crap. i feel like crap. are these pants getting smaller? why are my arms starting to look like wings? nothing is right here.
stage six: acceptance.
yes, i do have to workout today. yes, two laps is better than none. yes, i do have worse metabolism than some. yes, i will probably have to excercise everyday for the rest of my life. no, i can't just go to sleep early. no, i can't just skip today. no, i'm tired isn't an excuse.
today i had a stage four workout. i stopped working out for a bit to talk to my mom (tip: never do this. you never want to start back up again) and eventually ended up deciding that twenty minutes was good enough for today, and maybe i'd do that cotton ball thing tomorrow.
in life, some days are stage four days, and some days are stage six days. sometimes, i have a two day. the really crap days are the stage one days, where i never even accept the fact that i'm awake. sometimes, i find myself hitting all six stages before lunch (i call those days "saturdays"). i guess if i were to set a goal for myself, i would say that i want all of my days to be a stage six. because really, any day that you're alive, making plans, texting your best friend all day, having lunch with your mom, working and making money, driving, listening to music, spending time with your family, and sleeping in your own bed is a day to be accepted and celebrated.
one of the goals that i have really been trying at is the losing weight goal. i am really looking forward to a time when this is not on my "things to accomplish this year" list. maybe it comes from having my foot in a cast for the first two months of the year, because i have to say i've never been more excited to work out than i was the day i took that stinky boot off. the point is, i've been doing really well the past month, and i'm pretty proud of myself. it almost makes up for the fact that i've not gone to disneyland yet. one of the funnest things for me about excercising is where my mind wanders while i'm working out. i think of alot of stuff during that time, it's almost as bad as when i am just about to fall asleep. you know how at night you get in this phase where you're nearly asleep but not quite, kind of like a zombie? that's how i am all night, i don't think i actually ever fall asleep, and my mind goes to the weirdest places. i start thinking about how weird it is that things like penguins and bananas exist in one minute, and then the next minute i'm thinking about how weird it is that babies live inside a woman's body for nine months, which of course leads me to think of being pregnant, which leads me to think about giving birth, which leads me to wonder if i will ever give birth, which leads me to wonder if i will ever get married, which leads me to wonder if i will ever have a boyfriend. ugh. it's exhausting, really. this is what my mind does all night, by the way, which is why i am never surprised when i wake up for work feeling like my head has been under water all night. (my favourite comment to recieve from a 7:00 patient in the morning is: "you look tired today." yes, this has happened more than once, and no, it isn't a compliment.)
i've been thinking alot lately about the stages of grief. some people say there are five stages, some people say there are seven, some people say there are ten. i think it is different for everyone. i may actually have twenty stages of greif. what can i say, i'm a recovering pack rat. five of anything just isn't enough. after researching, i have concluded that, for me (probably for most people) there are six stages of greif. today during my excercise time, i realized that these particular stages apply to excercise as well. maybe that's because excercising gives me grief (no disrespect to grief intended).
stage one: denial.
i don't really need to work out. going to the gym just isn't for me.
stage two: guilt.
i feel like crap for not excercising today. why am i so lazy? what did i do instead that was so much more important? oh that's right, i watched two episodes of dawson's creek (this may or may not be my life at the moment).
stage three: anger.
i hate working out. i hate sweating. why do i have to work out when so-and-so doesn't? why can't i just have better metabolism? i hate working out!
stage four: bargaining.
i'll just run twice around the block. i'll skip today and just eat cotton balls soaked in orange juice tomorrow (do. not. try.). meh, twenty minutes is enough for today.
stage five: depression.
i look like crap. i feel like crap. are these pants getting smaller? why are my arms starting to look like wings? nothing is right here.
stage six: acceptance.
yes, i do have to workout today. yes, two laps is better than none. yes, i do have worse metabolism than some. yes, i will probably have to excercise everyday for the rest of my life. no, i can't just go to sleep early. no, i can't just skip today. no, i'm tired isn't an excuse.
today i had a stage four workout. i stopped working out for a bit to talk to my mom (tip: never do this. you never want to start back up again) and eventually ended up deciding that twenty minutes was good enough for today, and maybe i'd do that cotton ball thing tomorrow.
in life, some days are stage four days, and some days are stage six days. sometimes, i have a two day. the really crap days are the stage one days, where i never even accept the fact that i'm awake. sometimes, i find myself hitting all six stages before lunch (i call those days "saturdays"). i guess if i were to set a goal for myself, i would say that i want all of my days to be a stage six. because really, any day that you're alive, making plans, texting your best friend all day, having lunch with your mom, working and making money, driving, listening to music, spending time with your family, and sleeping in your own bed is a day to be accepted and celebrated.
3.17.2010
GRIEF: WHAT TO DO WHEN YOU’RE DONE.
According to wikipedia, the current source of my information, grief is “a multi-faceted response to loss, particularly to the loss of someone or something to which a bond was formed”. Leave it to wikipedia to spread something out in its most simplest of terms. Wiki goes on to tell me that, “although conventionally focused on the emotional response to loss, [grief] also has physical, cognitive, behavioral, social, and philosophical dimensions”. I guess I should thank wikipedia for the explanation, because right now I can’t find one of my own.
Life has an interesting way of reminding us that all of the old, over-done clichés are true. That the fact that you’re alive is something to be celebrated, that nothing gold can stay. That yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, and that today really is a gift, and that’s why it’s called the present. Two weeks ago, my definition of “bad day” was redefined. Two weeks ago, I had to stop feeling sorry for myself and start feeling sorry for someone who really needed it. I’ve been very blessed my whole life with the gift of words, and not just any words, but the right words. I have always known what to say to someone to make them feel better. Two weeks ago, my words were taken from me, and I realized that without them, there was nothing I could do except cry.
I don’t know what the harder lesson to learn in this life is: the fact that there are some experiences that I must face alone, or that there are some experiences that someone I love must face alone. The thing about grief is that it changes things, it changes people. When you’re grieving, music sounds different, food tastes different, the air smells different. Everyday tasks become robotic. Get up. Get dressed. Fix breakfast. Go to work. Work. Come home from work. Try to eat. Try to watch TV. Try to talk to someone. Sleep. Two weeks ago, my best friend became my grieving friend, and my words weren’t enough.
One of the most upsetting things about grief is that it takes the light out of everything. Activities that you used to love become pointless. Why shop when she is gone? Why sing when she is gone? The most unfair thing about losing someone we love is that when that person passes away, we don’t, and we have to keep going without them. Must keep breathing. Must keep smiling. Must keep working. Must. Function.
One of the neat things about grief though, is that it allows you to see what you are capable of. It’s truly a test for the strong ones. As I’ve stood on the outside of my friend’s grief, I’ve made a few observations. One: her family is amazing. It’s been quite amazing to watch them band together in their time of sorrow and show such great love and care for the sister who has passed. It has been stunning to see the way in which they carry each other, the way they bear their own grief as well as the grief and sorrow of each other. The second thing I’ve noticed is that my friend is stronger than she thinks she is. I’ve always known that she possessed something special inside her, so I’m not surprised that she has risen to this challenge so bravely, but it is still amazing to see how the gifts we have been blessed with present themselves when we need them most.
Wikipedia defines friendship as “a type of companionship that a human towards another human being can have. It is a bond in which one person has a feeling toward another person. Friendship is the cooperative and supportive relationship between people. It is a relationship which involves mutual knowledge, esteem, affection, and respect, along with a degree of rendering service to friends in times of need or crisis. Friends will welcome each other’s company and exhibit loyalty towards each other.” I am so lucky to have been blessed with the friendships that I have in my life. I haven’t always had friends that fit this description; in fact I think I managed to find a few friends that were the exact opposite off that description. I am grateful for those friends too; it’s because of them that I am able to realize just how extraordinary it is to find someone who would do anything for you. It’s not easy to find a friend that will bring you a pepsi when you’re sick, or visit you at work when you’re bored. A friend that will spend months concocting a birthday present for you. A friend that will send you a handwritten letter. A friend that will stay up late watching movies with you. A friend whose love crosses county and state lines. A friend who has been there for you in your most trying times and a friend who will continue to be there for all of your trials to come. A friend that isn’t afraid to stand up for you, who isn’t ashamed to be with you (even when you’re wearing your mumu). A friend that will bear your griefs as her own. A friend that cries for you when you can’t cry anymore.
I sometimes wonder what my purpose here on earth is. Am I destined to be a wife and mother? Am I destined to be famous? Am I destined to be a spinster forever? What I have never questioned though, is my ability to love, and to love unconditionally. My ability to see the good in others. My ability to know which words to use, and when to use them. My ability to recognize when someone is hurting. The sympathy and empathy I feel for those that I love. My honesty, even when the truth hurts. My understanding. When I gather all those factors together and form a list, what that list consists of is qualities that make a really great friend. Maybe that is my “destiny”, if such a thing even exists. Maybe I am destined to be everyone’s friend. There was a time when I detested being known as “the friend”, but maybe I was just looking at it from the wrong angle. I used to always feel like a chump, because in relationships, friend or otherwise, I was always the more loving/caring/giving. There’s a song lyric that I think about often that says, “I believe that my life is going to see the love I give returned to me”, and I think that is exactly what has happened in my life. All of the past “friends” who took me for granted have dropped off, weeded themselves out. And what I am left with is a handful of amazing, strong people who I know feel exactly the same way about me as I do about them. Maybe it is my destiny to be a forever friend. Maybe, just maybe, I am totally and completely okay with that.
Life has an interesting way of reminding us that all of the old, over-done clichés are true. That the fact that you’re alive is something to be celebrated, that nothing gold can stay. That yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, and that today really is a gift, and that’s why it’s called the present. Two weeks ago, my definition of “bad day” was redefined. Two weeks ago, I had to stop feeling sorry for myself and start feeling sorry for someone who really needed it. I’ve been very blessed my whole life with the gift of words, and not just any words, but the right words. I have always known what to say to someone to make them feel better. Two weeks ago, my words were taken from me, and I realized that without them, there was nothing I could do except cry.
I don’t know what the harder lesson to learn in this life is: the fact that there are some experiences that I must face alone, or that there are some experiences that someone I love must face alone. The thing about grief is that it changes things, it changes people. When you’re grieving, music sounds different, food tastes different, the air smells different. Everyday tasks become robotic. Get up. Get dressed. Fix breakfast. Go to work. Work. Come home from work. Try to eat. Try to watch TV. Try to talk to someone. Sleep. Two weeks ago, my best friend became my grieving friend, and my words weren’t enough.
One of the most upsetting things about grief is that it takes the light out of everything. Activities that you used to love become pointless. Why shop when she is gone? Why sing when she is gone? The most unfair thing about losing someone we love is that when that person passes away, we don’t, and we have to keep going without them. Must keep breathing. Must keep smiling. Must keep working. Must. Function.
One of the neat things about grief though, is that it allows you to see what you are capable of. It’s truly a test for the strong ones. As I’ve stood on the outside of my friend’s grief, I’ve made a few observations. One: her family is amazing. It’s been quite amazing to watch them band together in their time of sorrow and show such great love and care for the sister who has passed. It has been stunning to see the way in which they carry each other, the way they bear their own grief as well as the grief and sorrow of each other. The second thing I’ve noticed is that my friend is stronger than she thinks she is. I’ve always known that she possessed something special inside her, so I’m not surprised that she has risen to this challenge so bravely, but it is still amazing to see how the gifts we have been blessed with present themselves when we need them most.
Wikipedia defines friendship as “a type of companionship that a human towards another human being can have. It is a bond in which one person has a feeling toward another person. Friendship is the cooperative and supportive relationship between people. It is a relationship which involves mutual knowledge, esteem, affection, and respect, along with a degree of rendering service to friends in times of need or crisis. Friends will welcome each other’s company and exhibit loyalty towards each other.” I am so lucky to have been blessed with the friendships that I have in my life. I haven’t always had friends that fit this description; in fact I think I managed to find a few friends that were the exact opposite off that description. I am grateful for those friends too; it’s because of them that I am able to realize just how extraordinary it is to find someone who would do anything for you. It’s not easy to find a friend that will bring you a pepsi when you’re sick, or visit you at work when you’re bored. A friend that will spend months concocting a birthday present for you. A friend that will send you a handwritten letter. A friend that will stay up late watching movies with you. A friend whose love crosses county and state lines. A friend who has been there for you in your most trying times and a friend who will continue to be there for all of your trials to come. A friend that isn’t afraid to stand up for you, who isn’t ashamed to be with you (even when you’re wearing your mumu). A friend that will bear your griefs as her own. A friend that cries for you when you can’t cry anymore.
I sometimes wonder what my purpose here on earth is. Am I destined to be a wife and mother? Am I destined to be famous? Am I destined to be a spinster forever? What I have never questioned though, is my ability to love, and to love unconditionally. My ability to see the good in others. My ability to know which words to use, and when to use them. My ability to recognize when someone is hurting. The sympathy and empathy I feel for those that I love. My honesty, even when the truth hurts. My understanding. When I gather all those factors together and form a list, what that list consists of is qualities that make a really great friend. Maybe that is my “destiny”, if such a thing even exists. Maybe I am destined to be everyone’s friend. There was a time when I detested being known as “the friend”, but maybe I was just looking at it from the wrong angle. I used to always feel like a chump, because in relationships, friend or otherwise, I was always the more loving/caring/giving. There’s a song lyric that I think about often that says, “I believe that my life is going to see the love I give returned to me”, and I think that is exactly what has happened in my life. All of the past “friends” who took me for granted have dropped off, weeded themselves out. And what I am left with is a handful of amazing, strong people who I know feel exactly the same way about me as I do about them. Maybe it is my destiny to be a forever friend. Maybe, just maybe, I am totally and completely okay with that.
2.26.2010
you know i'm a dreamer, but my heart is of gold.
"A good writer writes well about what he knows.
A great writer writes even better about what he doesn’t."
-Alicia Law
It’s hard to say for sure, but it’s probable that my greatest wish in life is to be a writer. I should rephrase that, because I feel like I am already a writer. I want to be a published writer. It seems like I am constantly writing, every minute of every day. Aside from the two or three letters that I write daily, my mind is always filled with words. I’ve often found it fascinating how musicians are able to write songs. Sometimes I listen to a song and think, “how can someone possibly write these words?” And then I realize that musicians are probably constantly writing songs in their head, just as I am constantly writing stories in my head. In a way, my stories have saved me. Growing up, when someone was mean to me, or when, tragically, I had a crush on someone and they saw me as “just a friend” (ah, the woes of high school love), I would go home, get out a notebook, and write a story about it. The difference between the story I wrote and the real-life outcome of my experiences was that my stories always gave me a happy ending. I was able to write myself out of the reality that I lived in and create a world in which I was the hero, I was the winner, I was the cherished one. I know there are some out there who would question whether or not it is a good idea for a person to create alternate realities for themselves, but for me, it helped me deal with the experiences that I was having. It made not getting what I want just a bit easier.
As far back as I can remember I have been a dreamer. It is one of the things that I love most about myself, although at times it does make my reality harder to swallow. When I was five, I confessed to the entire graduating kindergarten class (and all their families) that I, Gabrielle Walz, wanted to be a mermaid when I grew up. Imagine my disappointment when I realized that my dream was never going to become a reality (that doesn’t mean that I didn’t slip a diving ring around my ankles in the pool and pretend that my legs were fins, because I did). In junior high, I believed very much in true love, and soul mates. One can only assume that I was heartbroken when the boy I thought I was going to marry was laughing about me behind my back. In high school, I became a bit more realistic about love, although I was still in the mindset that I would be married at 18 like my mother, and that I would have a daughter at age 20. As you can see, I’ve been setting myself up for disappointments for a long time now, not on purpose but mostly as a result of my own naive ness and genuine misunderstanding of how the world works.
I think it was around my 23rd year on this planet that I decided that marriage and motherhood may not come as quickly as I had hoped, if ever. It was also around that time that I decided I was going to be a writer. An event took place that completely turned my whole world upside down, and I remember sitting in my bed thinking, “I have to write this story”. It’s not so much that I felt like everyone needed to know what happened to me, but more so that I felt like I needed to know what happened to me. I needed to remember that I survived. It took me 23 years to realize that a mermaid is not really what I wanted to be when I grew up; I wanted to be a writer. Not as hard to achieve as a mermaid would be, but nearly as realistic.
Mermaid. Teacher. Actress. Mom. Swimmer. Talk show host. Hair stylist. Make-up artist. Mom. Wife. Wizard. Mom. Wife. Writer. From the age of five, I’ve changed my “what I want to be when I grow up” story multiple times, which has prompted me more than once to wonder if I am really ever going to be what I want to be when I “grow up”. Even more than that, it’s made me wonder if there’s a point to ever wanting to be anything. It’s been hard for me not to become a bit cold or callous towards things like love, dreams, and desires, particularly because I don’t know much about achieving them, I only have the experience of them being denied me. It’s made writing my story very difficult as of late, because I find myself not knowing which story to write, or if I should even be writing my own story right now. I feel panic and pressure because I realize I am no spring chicken, I am 25 and unmarried, practically a menace to society. There comes a time when I’ve got to just stop talking and start doing (if only it were that easy, right?). It was the quote at the top of this page that got me thinking that my story doesn’t have to be my personal story. Maybe what I need to do right now is write someone else’s story.
One of the most frustrating things to me is that I know I can do this, and the only thing that is stopping me is fear. I am afraid of not being good enough. It makes me wonder how I can still be worried about being good enough. I would have figured that I would be over that fear by now. I suppose the fear of being “good enough” for someone or something never really leaves us, and in that respect, we still have some growing up to do.
I’m adding something to the list of things I want to be when I grow up: “DREAMER”. Because when I look at that list as a dreamer, it doesn’t seem so impossible. There will always be a part of me that longs to breathe under water, or longs to take on the lives of others in front of a camera, or clean my room with the wave of a wand. I take comfort in knowing that even if those things aren’t possible in this world, I can create a world in which they are possible.
Heaven help me if I am ever quoting Motley Crue in my life, but the lyrics to their song “Home Sweet Home” are actually quite good. “You know I’m a dreamer/But my heart is of gold/You know that I’ve seen/Too many romantic dreams/Up in lights, falling off the silver screen/My heart is like an open book/For the whole world to read/Sometimes nothing keeps me together at the seams/I’m on my way/Just set me free/I’m on my way/Home sweet home”
A great writer writes even better about what he doesn’t."
-Alicia Law
It’s hard to say for sure, but it’s probable that my greatest wish in life is to be a writer. I should rephrase that, because I feel like I am already a writer. I want to be a published writer. It seems like I am constantly writing, every minute of every day. Aside from the two or three letters that I write daily, my mind is always filled with words. I’ve often found it fascinating how musicians are able to write songs. Sometimes I listen to a song and think, “how can someone possibly write these words?” And then I realize that musicians are probably constantly writing songs in their head, just as I am constantly writing stories in my head. In a way, my stories have saved me. Growing up, when someone was mean to me, or when, tragically, I had a crush on someone and they saw me as “just a friend” (ah, the woes of high school love), I would go home, get out a notebook, and write a story about it. The difference between the story I wrote and the real-life outcome of my experiences was that my stories always gave me a happy ending. I was able to write myself out of the reality that I lived in and create a world in which I was the hero, I was the winner, I was the cherished one. I know there are some out there who would question whether or not it is a good idea for a person to create alternate realities for themselves, but for me, it helped me deal with the experiences that I was having. It made not getting what I want just a bit easier.
As far back as I can remember I have been a dreamer. It is one of the things that I love most about myself, although at times it does make my reality harder to swallow. When I was five, I confessed to the entire graduating kindergarten class (and all their families) that I, Gabrielle Walz, wanted to be a mermaid when I grew up. Imagine my disappointment when I realized that my dream was never going to become a reality (that doesn’t mean that I didn’t slip a diving ring around my ankles in the pool and pretend that my legs were fins, because I did). In junior high, I believed very much in true love, and soul mates. One can only assume that I was heartbroken when the boy I thought I was going to marry was laughing about me behind my back. In high school, I became a bit more realistic about love, although I was still in the mindset that I would be married at 18 like my mother, and that I would have a daughter at age 20. As you can see, I’ve been setting myself up for disappointments for a long time now, not on purpose but mostly as a result of my own naive ness and genuine misunderstanding of how the world works.
I think it was around my 23rd year on this planet that I decided that marriage and motherhood may not come as quickly as I had hoped, if ever. It was also around that time that I decided I was going to be a writer. An event took place that completely turned my whole world upside down, and I remember sitting in my bed thinking, “I have to write this story”. It’s not so much that I felt like everyone needed to know what happened to me, but more so that I felt like I needed to know what happened to me. I needed to remember that I survived. It took me 23 years to realize that a mermaid is not really what I wanted to be when I grew up; I wanted to be a writer. Not as hard to achieve as a mermaid would be, but nearly as realistic.
Mermaid. Teacher. Actress. Mom. Swimmer. Talk show host. Hair stylist. Make-up artist. Mom. Wife. Wizard. Mom. Wife. Writer. From the age of five, I’ve changed my “what I want to be when I grow up” story multiple times, which has prompted me more than once to wonder if I am really ever going to be what I want to be when I “grow up”. Even more than that, it’s made me wonder if there’s a point to ever wanting to be anything. It’s been hard for me not to become a bit cold or callous towards things like love, dreams, and desires, particularly because I don’t know much about achieving them, I only have the experience of them being denied me. It’s made writing my story very difficult as of late, because I find myself not knowing which story to write, or if I should even be writing my own story right now. I feel panic and pressure because I realize I am no spring chicken, I am 25 and unmarried, practically a menace to society. There comes a time when I’ve got to just stop talking and start doing (if only it were that easy, right?). It was the quote at the top of this page that got me thinking that my story doesn’t have to be my personal story. Maybe what I need to do right now is write someone else’s story.
One of the most frustrating things to me is that I know I can do this, and the only thing that is stopping me is fear. I am afraid of not being good enough. It makes me wonder how I can still be worried about being good enough. I would have figured that I would be over that fear by now. I suppose the fear of being “good enough” for someone or something never really leaves us, and in that respect, we still have some growing up to do.
I’m adding something to the list of things I want to be when I grow up: “DREAMER”. Because when I look at that list as a dreamer, it doesn’t seem so impossible. There will always be a part of me that longs to breathe under water, or longs to take on the lives of others in front of a camera, or clean my room with the wave of a wand. I take comfort in knowing that even if those things aren’t possible in this world, I can create a world in which they are possible.
Heaven help me if I am ever quoting Motley Crue in my life, but the lyrics to their song “Home Sweet Home” are actually quite good. “You know I’m a dreamer/But my heart is of gold/You know that I’ve seen/Too many romantic dreams/Up in lights, falling off the silver screen/My heart is like an open book/For the whole world to read/Sometimes nothing keeps me together at the seams/I’m on my way/Just set me free/I’m on my way/Home sweet home”
1.15.2010
perspective.
i got a daily calendar for christmas (shout out to chanel) entitled "3,650 things to be happy about". it is a little desk calendar in the shape of a sunshine, and on each day, it lists ten things to be happy about. i am fifteen days in, and everyday i have disagreed with at least one of the things listed. i'm not a debbie downer, i'm just stating facts here. so i started to make a game out of it, sort of. i would read the list, and then i would make my own list, which would be reasons why you would not be happy about the things listed. this sounds confusing, but there's a point, promise. here is today's list.
1. a potluck dinner.
reasons to be happy: you get to eat a bunch of good food with fun people.
reasons not to be happy: two reasons to not be happy about this one. one, i have to make something for a lot of people, and two, i have to eat the casarole that the cat lady brought.
2. buying in bulk
happy: bunch of groovy stuff for small prices.
not happy: throwing away uneaten food.
3. a bagpipe playing.
happy: you've got me on this one. but i'm guessing some people find it soothing? beautiful?
not happy: um... loud bagpipe-y noises.
4. cider-baked ham.
happy: it's delicious.
not happy: i hate ham. plus cider-baked burps.
5. alphabetized collections.
happy: oh, the organization!! oh, the joy of finding something when you need it.
not happy: the five hours it took you to organize it. and the re-working of the organization when you get a new cd, movie, etc.
6. the geology of yosemite.
happy: those huge rocks are quite majestic, aren't they?
not happy: who cares about a bunch of dirty rocks really?
7. periscopes.
happy: you can see far away like it's up close.
not happy: so can peeping toms.
8. drum lessons.
happy: you can become a really groovy drummer.
not happy: you can annoy everyone around you.
9. refuge on cape cod.
happy: lighthouses and sunsets by the ocean.
not happy: who can afford to go to cape cod when they need refuge. i seek refuge in my backyard.
10. soap opera synopses.
happy: ah... where else could you see someone marry their uncle and their twin brother, all while in a coma?
not happy: loss of brain cells.
right, so the list ends up being kind of a downer in the end, but here's the whole point of the thing... it gets me thinking every morning about how i have a choice. i can choose to be happy instead of unhappy. i can choose to laugh instead of cry. i can choose to smile instead of frown. i can choose to be bothered, and i can choose not to be bothered. it really puts things in perspective for me, and it's quite empowering. i choose how my day goes. i choose what kind of life i live.
i cannot choose what happens to me, but i can choose how i react. in life, we get dealt crappy hands sometimes. and alot of times, it seems a bit too much to handle. but it is our reaction to the things that happen to us that makes us who we are. we are not defined by events that take place in our lives, we are defined by what we do with what we are given.
i am not the girl who got picked on in school. i am not the girl who got in a car accident. i am not the girl who used to be friends with that other girl. i am not the girl who never has a boyfriend because all the boys she has liked never like her back. i am not the girl who is alone because all of her friends have moved away.
i am the girl who finds those who are picked on and befriends them. i am the girl who recovered. i am the girl who has a backbone. i am the girl who is independent, who doesn't define herself by who she is with. i am the girl who finds strength in the lonliness. i am a girl who can stand on her own two feet. i am a listener, a bleeding heart, a friend.
that ended up being a bit more "women's lib" than i originally intended, but don't worry, i'm still wearing a bra. i haven't burned it.
...yet.
1. a potluck dinner.
reasons to be happy: you get to eat a bunch of good food with fun people.
reasons not to be happy: two reasons to not be happy about this one. one, i have to make something for a lot of people, and two, i have to eat the casarole that the cat lady brought.
2. buying in bulk
happy: bunch of groovy stuff for small prices.
not happy: throwing away uneaten food.
3. a bagpipe playing.
happy: you've got me on this one. but i'm guessing some people find it soothing? beautiful?
not happy: um... loud bagpipe-y noises.
4. cider-baked ham.
happy: it's delicious.
not happy: i hate ham. plus cider-baked burps.
5. alphabetized collections.
happy: oh, the organization!! oh, the joy of finding something when you need it.
not happy: the five hours it took you to organize it. and the re-working of the organization when you get a new cd, movie, etc.
6. the geology of yosemite.
happy: those huge rocks are quite majestic, aren't they?
not happy: who cares about a bunch of dirty rocks really?
7. periscopes.
happy: you can see far away like it's up close.
not happy: so can peeping toms.
8. drum lessons.
happy: you can become a really groovy drummer.
not happy: you can annoy everyone around you.
9. refuge on cape cod.
happy: lighthouses and sunsets by the ocean.
not happy: who can afford to go to cape cod when they need refuge. i seek refuge in my backyard.
10. soap opera synopses.
happy: ah... where else could you see someone marry their uncle and their twin brother, all while in a coma?
not happy: loss of brain cells.
right, so the list ends up being kind of a downer in the end, but here's the whole point of the thing... it gets me thinking every morning about how i have a choice. i can choose to be happy instead of unhappy. i can choose to laugh instead of cry. i can choose to smile instead of frown. i can choose to be bothered, and i can choose not to be bothered. it really puts things in perspective for me, and it's quite empowering. i choose how my day goes. i choose what kind of life i live.
i cannot choose what happens to me, but i can choose how i react. in life, we get dealt crappy hands sometimes. and alot of times, it seems a bit too much to handle. but it is our reaction to the things that happen to us that makes us who we are. we are not defined by events that take place in our lives, we are defined by what we do with what we are given.
i am not the girl who got picked on in school. i am not the girl who got in a car accident. i am not the girl who used to be friends with that other girl. i am not the girl who never has a boyfriend because all the boys she has liked never like her back. i am not the girl who is alone because all of her friends have moved away.
i am the girl who finds those who are picked on and befriends them. i am the girl who recovered. i am the girl who has a backbone. i am the girl who is independent, who doesn't define herself by who she is with. i am the girl who finds strength in the lonliness. i am a girl who can stand on her own two feet. i am a listener, a bleeding heart, a friend.
that ended up being a bit more "women's lib" than i originally intended, but don't worry, i'm still wearing a bra. i haven't burned it.
...yet.
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