I was born on a Wednesday

The world changes on Tuesdays. September 11th was a Tuesday. Columbine was a Tuesday. I remember only because when Dad picked us up from school and told us, I thought he was trying to tell us that something had happened to Mom. Tuesdays. Miserable. Worse than Mondays. Lives are shaped, molded, changed forever on Tuesdays.
And this Tuesday was no different than the rest. Phone calls were made, emails exchanged, desperation. I didn't cry, not once, although I should have. Maybe I will. Someone reneged on a promise, left me in the cold, left me to live alone next year in a city I don't know well enough to navigate by myself.
And so the decision was made for me. In case you weren't aware, the first college that ever rejected me was Lewis and Clark, by my own fault at not sending the paperwork in rapid succession. That time delay, the time I so very much needed, cost me a future with someone I care about. Well, at least an academic future. And so, this fall, I believe I will embark on an adventure yet to be known as "Chicago, the Second Time Around and Just Maybe this Time, Things Will Work Out."
Take care of Mom for me next year, please, make sure she doesn't get too lonely in the house. Buy her plane tickets to come see me, or me tickets to see her. Tell her how much you love her and don't let her get sad. It sounds strange, but I'm scared to leave her, really. I'm starting to tear up, something I haven't done all day. It's been a nice semester. I get to see her everyday, for the most part, and I get to talk to her and hang out with her and go see movies with her. People think I'm weird, but I love her so much. It's nice to be at home, and to get to sleep in my own bed, something I probably won't ever do after the end of this summer. I'll be gone, out on my own, living the life I probably won't even enjoy, educating myself, paying with someone else's money for a degree that cost too much, too much time, too much money, too much heartache, too many tears.
There's no place for me, except home, but I can't stay here forever. I hate to say that; I hate to go back to Chicago, but something is telling me why not. Just go for it, just do it, get it over with. Be done, be educated, be a functioning member of society.
I was denied a credit card today. Apparently, to get credit, you have to already have credit.
Once again, I was reminded how mediocre I am. It's a thought that has been haunting me lately, I've been brooding about it now for years, but I always held onto the thought that maybe I'd find something I'd be great at. Spring break brought hints by others that I should just become a teacher, something I would never deign to do. No offense, I'm not quite tough enough to teach, I wouldn't be fulfilled by it; I would be left frustrated, unsatisfied, exhausted and annoyed.
That's what I am now. All of it, and then some. I am terrified of the future, of what I can't do, what I should have done, what I'll never do.
And before the rest of my life begins, I have to kill two more years in Chicago, all so I can get a job, make money, get married, procreate and then expire. Great. All of it. Great.
What did you want to do before you settled into your lives of mediocrity? What was your great ambition?
Will I ever get to see mine fulfilled?

endnote: This was an embarrassingly melodramatic post, to your minds, I'm sure. I apologize. There's no other outlet than the comfort I find in making the pretense that no one reads this. And once you have, and are unsatisfied, feel free to inspect your own ambitions and then realize that no one ever gets exactly what they want. Sacrifices must be made for the sake of society, and this is mine. Chicago. To you, it's a city. It's a school. I should go. To me, it's endless torture, much like any other school, any other city, any other place. I can't settle, for now. I'm restless and it must end. So it is. Chicago. 2010. And then, wherever my life will lead.
And the many plane tickets, airports, car rides in between.

spring break

It was the best spring break ever. We went snowboarding, played soccer, climbed trees, drank tea, drove around, watched movies, made like eight runs to Target, held hands and fell in love again.
There is nothing worse than losing someone you love, even if they haven't gne far.

Spring break

As always, all good things must come to an end.

Untitled and Unfinished.

He wasn't the same when he came back. Something had changed inside of him, but she wasn't sure what it was. Maybe it was the way he jumped every time a car backfired in their little neighborhood, with its tidy houses and small front lawns, the aura of the creditors ever looming overhead. Maybe it was his conscientious manner toward time and the way that when he kissed her goodbye in the morning he always reminded her that he would be back at "seventeen hundred hours." She didn't care.
As soon as the rickety screen door has slammed shut, and she'd heard the engine of his pickup start, she would move to where she kept her journals, and with the baby safely away napping in the small second bedroom, she'd write. Not about anything in particular, just this and that. The weather, sometimes, or her mother, or that today the baby walked or giggled just a certain way. A mother's journal, she had called it, at the time when she imagined herself to be a mother in the best sense of the word, with the whole world waiting for her, accepting her.
But he was gone when she'd had the baby, alone in that tiny hospital bed, eyes squeezed tight, imagining that there could be no worse pain than this. And when she had laid eyes on their little son, she had melted, and then been afraid.
Who would take care of her now that she had another life in her hands? He wasn't due back for another year. He came back early, though, when the child was nine months old, hit in the legs and arms by shrapnel. He'd been in the hospital for awhile, and walked with a stiff right leg, but other than that, physically, he was in good shape.
He'd walked off that airplane and her heart had skipped a beat. They'd been high school lovers: she, the cheerleader, cocky with her blond hair swaying over the pleated blue and white skirt; he, the basketball jock, strong, lean, ready to compete. They'd gotten pregnant their senior year, the accident they never saw coming, the promise of a future together stronger than their knowledge of reality. They'd been married, after graduation, in her family's backyard, with the preacher there and her family. His father, an ex-Marine, had given his son enough help to buy a little house for the his young bride and their unborn child.
He'd gone off to war, just like his father had done when he had been in the same situation years before. "It never matters who you're fighting," he'd told his son, "just that you're there." She'd been upset at the decision, but with the false hope of a future ahead of them, she'd relented and finally let him sign the papers.
He was whisked away, gone to train to be a man while she grew ever larger around the middle and the glow around her made her soul shine. It was her destiny, her mother had whispered around the table at one dinner. That sole support for young daughter had never faltered, not even in the face of the shoppers at the local Wal-Mart who had sneered when they had seen the captain of the cheerleading squad buying baby outfits, essentials, cream to ease the stretch marks growing on her perfect belly. The piercing that had once graced her belly button had been discarded in favor of the newer, older, motherly look that she fought so hard to attain. Her hair fell in a soft bob, her makeup no longer looked teenage, but now applied as though she no longer cared. She did. She cared so much. She wanted so much.
He came home and she thought they'd be a family. She never realized that he wouldn't be able to hold her in her sleep the way he had once done. He picked at his food, his humor stolen from hsi body by the dry desert air. He no longer kissed her, picked her up and danced with her. He wasn't the man she'd married, but he was the father of her child, and so she'd stick it out.
One night, they got into a fight and he slapped her. It had been about something silly, a dish out of place on the drying rack she had so carefully arranged. It had crashed to the floor, causing cries of distress from their son, seated in his high chair. He'd reacted to the incident as though it had been her fault, that somehow she was to blame for the mistakes in his life.
She'd cried herself to sleep alone that night, while his new residence became the couch.
She loved him, she kept repeating in her mind. This was the man she'd married.
His father had set him up with a job at the local supermarket, where he scanned groceries for ten hours a day. It paid little, simply enough to keep the bills at bay and food on their little table.
Things were fine, for awhile. He had been genuinely happy to see her, with blond hair and that smiling face, pretty for him. He had wanted to see their child, something he had always dreamed of but had never told her. When he met them, there in the airport, he had felt so calm. He didn't understand the change that was taking him over, the way he no longer cared to see her, to talk to her, to hold his son and make him smile.
It started out very small, little things, here and there.
A jar of baby food off the conveyor, before the bagger had even seen it was there. The customers almost never noticed. He'd whisk the item away from their eyes; besides, he had the speed that no clerk had ever seen before. Twice as fast as the other cashiers, his days flew by in a blur of frozen meats, deli items, milk, butter, cheese, toilet paper, bread, eggs. He'd bring his little treasures home, sometimes to share them with her, and sometimes not.
It worked out for some time. He enjoyed the sensation it gave him, a little therapy never hurt anyone was his thought. This couldn't be worse than those kids he saw who rode their bikes in and just left them, forgotten, by the front of the store. They reeked of weed, buying chips and soda with no cares in the world. Certainly, this wasn't a crime. Not like that. The old women glared at the kids as they did that, no one had ever been that reckless in their time.
He agreed.
It was the end of summer, golden light falling everywhere and trees showing hints of the tragedy about to befall them, changing colors and falling off their branches, and he had gone to work with no intention of anything happening. He had been trying to curb the habit lately, but he couldn't bear to do so.
Fifteen minutes later, his final paycheck in hand, he exited the job he had grown so accustomed to. He deposited it in the bank, and went home to find his wife and son laying on their sides in the little living room, laughing as though something was indeed funny. He smiled at them, picked up his young son and kissed his wife. Suddenly, something had changed. He felt a little more free than he had when he had walked into that stern looking grocery store.
The phone call came a few minutes later. "Fired?" Screamed his father, irritated beyond belief. "I put my reputation on the line so that you could have that job! And you betray me? Stealing?" The screams continued, and he settled the receiver against his shoulder. "...served this country....better man....raised you right..."
The door opened, and his father stood there, filling it's little form, leaving no doubt as to his intentions. "We'd better have a talk."
They disappeared behind the house, walking through the fields that he would have preferred to be working instead of the grocery store. Maybe he would try and see if the local farmers would be willing to let him drive a tractor, or help with the upcoming corn harvest.
The truck drove away, eventually, leaving her alone with their son, waiting for him to walk through the back door, sullen and annoyed. It grew dark, and he had still not reappeared. She walked out back and called for him, his name echoing slightly in the dust.
She waited, figuring that he must be brooding. She fed herself and the child dinner, and by bedtime, when he had still not come back, she called the sheriff.
It didn't take them long to find his body.
He had been shot once, at close range, with the same sort of handgun his fathered owned. It hadn't been drawn out, or painful, instead, quick and angry. The physical evidence overpowered any statement his father tried to make, protesting innocence as he was booked into the county jail.
The trial was quick, and the young woman, now older than her years, sat next to her mother, who held the child. She'd waited so long for so little, and the tears fell as she realized it had all been for the little boy sitting next to her, munching on cereal and smiling. He had never meant any of it, not the fights, the criticism, the slamming of the little screen door daily. He had left her a letter, written before he went to war, in which he expressed his deep gratitude for the presence in his life, the way she made him so much more. She cried, silently,her soul ripped apart and his father felt no remorse.

Brother Ali-The Truth is Here

"You don't give money to the bums
on a corner with a sign bleeding from their gums
Talking about you don't support a crackhead
What you think happens to the money from your taxes?" -Brother Ali, "Uncle Sam Goddamn"

The venue filled quickly, time passing, people milling around, drinking, counting down the minutes until the show would start. People passing around a pipe were welcomed with a visit from the large men standing guard over the patrons of the tiny place. We wiggled our way into the front, while there was still wiggle room, and from there, we proceeded to watch the show unforld before our eyes. The lights dimmed, the DJ started spinning and the opening act took the stage. Toki Wright, I swore I had seen him before, and suddenly my mind settled on it. Paid Dues. July, last summer. He was the middle act, rocking Red Rocks with a cloud of weed smoke billowing up from the crowd. We waved around, a little, timid as the first act goes. Red Bull in our hands, dark black permanent markered x's on the backs, showing our age. The show filled in fast, and Brother Ali took the house down. In between the beginning and the finale, Abstract Rude took the stage. It was insane. We danced, jammed in between the back of the front of the theater and the masses of people around us. By the time it ended, we were sweating and exhausted, and the journey home proved just as difficult. A few wrong turns and some adventurous maneuvering left us somewhere north and somewhere west. Empty warehouses and tire stores lined the street, houses, small and crumbling, cars littered everywhere. It was one of the best nights I've had this year.
"Colorado is more than a bunch of snowboarders and people getting high." -Brother Ali, while promoting a local act.
I should mention that Brother Ali is an albino Muslim rapper. He spent a few minutes telling the crowd how beautiful he feels when he wakes up. It's obvious that he's comfortable in his own skin. He's a bit political, but not overly so, and thoroughly enjoyable.

Reminder

I open the cloth duffel bag and there, lying on the top of my hastily stuffed belongings, sits a book of his I borrowed and a small stuffed wolf he gave me after the crying fit. It smells of his cologne, a present from me, and it stings my nose now, a cruel reminder of how he lingers even when he's gone. The smell will fade and soon the wolf will smell like nothing spectacular, fitting into the collection of animals discarded places from childhood, too special to give away.
I call him and he answers. It's never quite the same and we both know it. Standing in the airport yesterday, I asked the usual question: "Do you want to talk tonight?" Of course. We talk every night. But we both know we wouldn't have to ask it if we weren't a thousand miles away.

Danny

We came up with the idea as the day was fading away. We grabbed a blanket and supplies from the house and stopped to pick up charcoal from the grocery store. Armed with our meager provisions, we watched the sun fall from the sky as we set ablaze tired leaves that had never left their iron home after falling before winter. The temperature quickly dropped, breathing hints of the snow that was to follow down on us. We waited until the coals lay softly and the fire had nearly gone out and then together we layed the tin foil down and then the hot dogs.
Katie joined us, too.
We had pineapple, chips and hot dogs, and somehow it was the best impromtu barbecue in the world.
Tonight, we sat at airport, and now he's on a plane home. We got 75 degrees and then snow, and it was one of the best weekends of the year.

Two Weeks Notice

It's over. The long love affair, and not so much, with Dairy Queen has ended. I am putting in my two weeks notice tomorrow.
Poor or not, I will not be subjected to disrespect.
There are management issues now, things I never thought would happen. The daughter of the owner commits her fraud quietly, leaving us to suffer.
Tonight, I was sent to 120th and Huron to do their dirty work. I mopped, swept, and lost all respect for all of them when they tried to short me on the cash they had promised me.
March 10th will be my last day.

Summer dreams.

February is a month to forget, for the most part. The Portland trip was fun. I didn't take any pictures, but he did take me down to the waterfront. The river that runs through Portland is dirty and reminds me of the Chicago river, but there's something beautiful about it. Bridges span it and boats churn their way slowly up and down it. I was cold, shivering in my jacket. We walked there, and then walked through downtown for a little while before catching a train out.

I can't help but wish for summer. I'm happier then, carefree, not cold. Even though it's only two and a half months away, so much has to happen between now and then. Dentist visits, school, work, time can't go fast enough.

Highways....

I touched the accelerator, easing left and flying past the car in front of me. The music was comfortable, loud and vibrant, yet not so much so that my ears started to complain. The car seems to enjoy it, being driven. It hugs curves like it knows that I'm pushing it faster; it likes the unspoken need to compete. As I enter Denver, driving past Mile High, the highway makes its beautiful curves and I speed up. Going the speed limit or just above, enough to avoid the police presence I so dread has been too easy for the car. I nosed it above 90 right oustide of Ft. Collins, not daring to hit 91. I slowed, letting the car ride along on the windy road at the speed limit, no, two miles above. 77 set the pace for the drive. I felt at peace then, Denver surrounding me, the mobile public around me. The traffic flow didn't slow, but the volume increased, and I found myself surrounded by them too. I was at peace, then, for the first time in too long. I breathed a sigh, in the one place I can call my own. When I got home, I pulled into my little parking spot in front of the house, marked out of the snow. I stayed there for a few minutes, listening to the music and just sitting. I am comfortable there. The car knows that.
I play my iPod on shuffle. It's a recent development. I used to just let it play the songs I knew, but lately I've been realizing that there's never too much time for anything, not even music. Let it play. You'll be surprised.
Also, have you checked your karma lately? Make sure you're on the good side of the world. A woman approached me last night as I sat in the car. She asked me in jest if she could have my hat, but I told her it was my boyfriend's and I think he might be a little upset if I just ran off and gave it away. She told me she wasn't going to rob me, and I laughed. "I've already been robbed," I told her. She told me to buy a gun and I laughed again, telling her I am against guns in all forms. Wouldn't war be less prevalent if we had to face the people we're about to cut down in the name of freedom? She told me she was trying to get seven dollars so a woman would watch her child. I smiled, "I'm just as poor as you are," I said, handing her a dollar. She told me I had a nice car, and I smiled. I do.
Everyone says, "They'll just spend it on drugs." So what if they do? What would you spend it on? It's a dollar. Whether or not you need it more than they do, and sometimes, trust me, I am pretty sure I need it more. But, here's the thing...They always say that what goes around comes around, and on the off chance that might be true, I want something good to come my way. Isn't that why you believe in God? On the off chance he's real? (My point is not that you should buy drugs with your money, it's that you would throw it somewhere else. Also, that was not an attack on religion by any means. I sometimes wonder if I'll be more religious someday.)
On July 7, 2007 Danny and I went dancing. It was the first night we ever held hands. That night, wearing a new dress, I went out, stopping at the gas station first. A woman there told me I was beautiful. I was, that night. She seemed ashamed, but that may have been an act, I'm not sure. She asked me for money, and feeling generous, I gave her all the cash I had on me, seven dollars. Now, you ask, what's the significance of that? Seven, on 7/7/07. Karma. Luck. Whatever. That night I got what I had wanted since the summer began. I held his hand.
Today was the 3rd day I've owned my car. I hit 33,333 forty miles before I arrived home. That has nothing to do with sevens. I'm just making sure you know where your karma stands.
Also, P.S. I Love You is a great movie. I cried buckets.

The Car

The car search began and ended this afternoon. After putting in a description of what we wanted: A Honda Civic, 2001-current, black, blue or silver, four doors, we waited a few days and received a response. It was Shoreline Mist, a grayish color-silver with a hint of something else. The something else was gold in early afternoon, blue as the snow feel, and steel as I pulled up and parked out front tonight. 2006. 33,000 miles. One owner. From Pueblo. It is beautiful. Once the snow has stopped, I'll post pictures of the interior and the exterior in better light. It runs beautifully. Acceleration is not a problem at all. Tight turning radius. Love. Lots of it.

Grandma Mary and Aunt Sally arrived to witness the show, seeing it, they expressed their approval. Sitting in the car on the way to AAA, Mom gave me a talk. She warned me that we may want to walk away, and not to let our emotions get the better of us. As we accelerated onto the highway, I believe that all thoughts of walking away left her mind. She agreed.

I, of course, have fallen in love.

Into February.

The first two days after he left were the worst I've experienced thus far. I realized how alone I really am in Denver. I have work and school to keep me busy, but nights are long and weekends stretch out forever.
I bought plane tickets that week, not knowing that the stress of what we were facing was about to tear us apart. As usual, he came to the rescue.
I'm settling in. Things are different.
Dairy Queen cut my hours because I am unwilling to work in Highland's Ranch. I'm in the market for a second job, one that will look better on a resume and will possibly give me a new direction. I want to keep the one I have now, and supplement my income.
I'm going to see him in a week. Friday morning, I'll be back on Monday morning. I am counting the days. I can't wait. I'm flying out early, I'll get coffee in downtown Portland and wait for him to get done with classes and then take the bus down from campus.

Education

The room is crowded, filled with students too young to know their baggy pants and greasy hair won't make them cool forever. They file in, walk up to the desk where a thin woman sits and complain about the wait time. Then they sit down. The young men wear baggy hooded sweatshirts and sit with hats cocked off the sides of their heads. The girls carefully applied thick makeup this morning rimming their dim eyes in dark lines and pulling on tight pants to impress their male counterparts.
The clock on the wall keeps track of the slow passage of time. Some of them shift in their seats, uncomfortable, clearly nervous, desperate to hide it so no one will notice. A thirty-something man sits with them, a student, returning back to school to get a degree.
A shrill voice complains to the two exhuasted looking students manning the desk. The thin woman has a pretty face, but is dressed in clothes very unbecoming. She struts around with a stack of papers in her hand, not realizing that she herself is just like the girls whose chairs line the wall. She flips her hair with her hand and smiles, trying to be authoritative while the kids' eyes glaze over.
Registration problems are the reasons these people crowd into the room that is seldom used otherwise. They whine and mope, complaining amongst themselves, finding solidarity in the anxious crowd.
Then a name is called. Attention is riveted toward the desk. They are no longer a group of misplaced youths.
They are hopeful; their eyes betray that much.

On with winter....

He left today, another traveller arriving at a destination. We cried in the airport, as usual, and when I got home, I realized I was alone for the first time in a month. Not alone as in having an hour or two to myself, but alone as in no one around. Katie is back in Ft. Collins. I don't know what to do with myself.
I only scheduled nine credit hours. There wasn't much available, and nothing much I wanted to take.
It's strange to know we won't be getting tea anytime soon or that I won't see his headlights pulling into my driveway. It hurts, actually.

Colorado Sunday

Inside this cold strange sanctuary I am comfortable.
I haven't stopped to breathe, yet, and I'm sure that once I do, I'll find myself in a position to be productive.

Home!

Here I am, home, breathing easy.
Mountains surround me, catch my attention as we drive.
Danny picked me up; as usual, it involved a little bit of running, a big smile and an even bigger hug.
Heat. No cold like Chicago here.
Morning bright and blue, no gray.
Days stretch on forever, time slipping away.
Ah, I start work tomorrow.
No bueno.
I don't own any more Dairy Queen clothes.
Danny's mom likes me.
I love their yellow lab Emma.
Katie and I got into our own set of mischief last night. It was nice, to be back doing the things we've always done.
Stella's tea.

Dear Mom,

There they were, sitting at the bottom of a box left over from freshman year: The stamps.

Censorhsip

I am careful of what I write, hesitant fingers hanging over plastic keys, begging to be stamped down and repeated, again and again, forming words with their movements, the sounds making steady music from it. Each letter comforts the next, the up and down and up and down becomes a constant rhythm. Yet, I hesitate. Stopping, dangling a word over the keys, their begging is silent, though, and I resist.
The readers checks them, stopping daily, weekly, as it pops us in their favorites. The words mean nothing to them. They stop and read, as though it's the daily newspaper. They do not realize they've been fooled. There is nothing here but empty words, spun out of boredom or the chance that maybe once I'll say what I'm thinking, what's poised on the edge of my brain.
I never stop wondering, thinking, realizing, dreaming, assuming, whatever. But when I sit down to play the symphony of these keys, my words float away from me in some angry tide of feeling and I am left with nothing.
I stare. White screen. Blank. The keys sit. Untouched. I think. No, that won't work. She won't like it. or. No, that won't work. They don't know what it is. I realize that for life to be a story, one must have an eager audience. No novel is woven out of words for the sake of hearing the symphony. It is only written because the conductor begs someone to listen or to understand. It is the hope, I think, the hope that someone will appreciate the keeps them typing aimlessly or purposely however they set about it. There has to be a goal, always is, even if it's self-awareness.
Only in the bound book, hidden in the secret places, stashed in a backpack, clasped between pale hands or tucked into a drawer are the secrets spilled out with ink.
Sirens squeal other stories outside this building in the heart of the city.
I sit, saying nothing, wasting energy for the reader to comprehend.
But all is not lost.

Love Love Lovely

"One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life: That word is love." - Sophocles

"We love because it's the only true adventure." - Nikki Giovanni

"Love is like quicksilver in the hand. Leave the fingers open and it stays. Clutch it, and it darts away." - Dorothy Parker

"Love is friendship set on fire." - unknown

***"Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it...It really is worth fighting for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk everything, you risk even more." - Erica Jong*** (I love this one.)

"Maybe love is like luck. You have to go all the way to find it." - Robert Mitchum

"Loves makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place." - Zora Neale Hurston

"Love is the irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired." - Mark Twain

"Love is more than three words mumbled before bedtime. Love is sustained by action, a pattern of devotion in the things we do for each other every day." - Nicholas Sparks

"To love is to receive a glimpse of heaven." - Karen Sunde


And reading these, do you remember love?
Do you remember the butterflies in your stomach?
Seeing them, calling them, that first kiss.
Not even romantic love, just the love that it's possible to share for another person. I was pulling pictures off my wall the other day. There's me and Katie, smiling, sitting on her car when we were 16. There's me and Danny in his car on our last day of summer. There's me and Emily, on our road trip to Glenwood Springs. Your best friend, you mom, someone, anyone. There's enough to go around.
My first memory of perfect love remains a picture of a summer afternoon spent in a park, laying in the grass looking up into the trees. I took a picture then, I've posted it before. It's perfect. We held hands, our bodies not touching as we soaked up the sunshine, wasting a perfect weekend afternoon with each other. I thought then that this was something special, I had no idea where it would lead. I shifted, laying my head on his stomach, in a that questioning tense first touch. Now, I slip my hand into his and know that it's normal. It feels like home.
Too often, I think, we forget the little things that made us fall in love. The glint in his eyes when he looks at me, the way he makes me laugh, the long drives that we do early in the morning, it's these things that make me think that sometimes we let everything else get in the way of feelings.
Tonight, everything got the better of me, and for the fifth time in as many days, I found myself sniffling into the phone, in a foul mood, trying to pick a fight with him just to make myself feel better. And for the fifth time in five days, he came to my rescue, making me laugh, not letting me fight with him, not letting me think about what was wrong. He makes it better. He doesn't understand, he tells me that, but he tells me that no matter what, he'll listen to me and be there for me. He sympathizes, and sometimes that's enough. He talks to me until I'm calmer, until everything has fallen back into place. He does the cute things that have become the things we share between us. He gets to love me more today, so I let him, even though he doesn't. He couldn't.
So tell someone you love that you really love them.
Do it, and remember when you fell in love.
And save that feeling. It's that one that you just can't bottle up. You just have to try to keep it and hope it will never end.
Good luck.

oh and p.s. here it is....my favorite memory of the day I realized I loved him.

Take Care Packages

First box home today.
Two more lay packed on ready on the kitchen floor.
I am ready, ready, ready,
not at all.

One final done.
Four more to go.
Papers, papers, news story, papers, test, test.
Home.

I can't wait to get off the plane.
I can't wait to see him waiting there.
I can't wait to jump into his arms
and feel home.

Six days.

The train tonight.
I smelled the air,
pungent from below and
realized it was one day
closer to the last.

Time. Is. Slipping. Away.

Finals week begins.

Finals week begins.
I have two tests, one on Friday and another next Monday.
I also have one written final, one take-home writing portion of a test, three papers, and a final news story.
I packed my first box today. It is small and heavy, but I'm thinking that with a few more boxes, I'll be able to fit most of my things into the suitcases. I have gone through my wardrobe and found things that I do not wear as much as I should, and I am donating them before I leave so that I don't have to worry about bringing them home. I even donated that pair of jeans I've been holding onto. It's great, because I need to buy new jeans anyway, so getting rid of some will be nice. Also, Chicago has a much bigger homeless population than Denver.
So it works for everyone. I'm leaving the trashcan that I bought because no one wants to bring a trashcan home. And the giant posters will have to stay too. I don't know how I'm going to get my other posters home. I may just buy a poster roller thing....and then have that shipped out.

We were looking through Loyola's famous graduates last night and found one oddity among the bunch. An adult entertainment actress. I wonder what the school thinks of that. Also, the guitarist from 90s band The Smashing Pumpkins (!!!) and the lead singer from the heavy metal band Disturbed. I'll go and find the list and put it up.

Danny's dance recital is today. He was enrolled in Ghanaian Music and Dance, and thus had to learn a dance from Ghana, Africa. Today, he preforms it at some sort of festival at Lewis and Clark. He called me this morning, and we talked for awhile before he had to go. He's not sure he wants to be in Portland anymore, but to be honest, I think he just needs a break. He's been there since August with one trip home. I've been flying all around this semester, so it's been nicely broken up.
He just wants to get home and see me (!) which I can't wait for. He's picking me up at the airport on Monday. We're going to see the Botanic Garden's light show on Tuesday night, which I have never done. We drove by after Thanksgiving one evening to see if the lights were up, and he was shocked that I had never been.

I don't know how you feel about nature-esque television, but Planet Earth on Discovery channel has been wonderful. I watched a marathon of it yesterday as I sat battling some strange illness on the couch.

Ah, well, nothing important. High-stress situation.

It won't go, in case you don't know.....

"Stairway To Heaven"

There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold
And she's buying the stairway to heaven.
When she gets there she knows, if the stores are all closed
With a word she can get what she came for.
Ooh, ooh, and she's buying the stairway to heaven.

There's a sign on the wall but she wants to be sure
'Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings.
In a tree by the brook, there's a songbird who sings,
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it makes me wonder.

There's a feeling I get when I look to the west,
And my spirit is crying for leaving.
In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees,
And the voices of those who stand looking.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it really makes me wonder.

And it's whispered that soon if we all call the tune
Then the piper will lead us to reason.
And a new day will dawn for those who stand long
And the forests will echo with laughter.

If there's a bustle in your hedgerow, don't be alarmed now,
It's just a spring clean for the May queen.
Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run
There's still time to change the road you're on.
And it makes me wonder.

Your head is humming and it won't go, in case you don't know,
The piper's calling you to join him,
Dear lady, can you hear the wind blow, and did you know
Your stairway lies on the whispering wind.

And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our soul.
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to show
How everything still turns to gold.
And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last.
When all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to roll.

And she's buying the stairway to heaven.



****
And so, with tears streaming down my face too late on a Thursday, I begin the final week. Chicago, snow falling softly outside, lamp posts gently illuminating the streets below, freezing people.
I sit here, watching bad movies on tv, late at night. They came, we watched the game, and now they're gone, begging my presence at a party tomorrow night. I have no interest. Instead, I'll curl up at home and talk to Danny, because lately his voice has been the only one that calms me. I woke up last night, alone, and realized that everything is beginning to come together and fall apart all at once. I'm going ever closer to the thing(s) that mean the most to me, and further apart from the life that I've known.
I'm just at the point in between sleep and dreams.
Home. Danny. Home. Danny. I keep repeating them in my head. Colorado. Denver. Here I come, please.
Ten days.
We did Secret Santa gifts in our room today. I had Gena and Melissa had me. She got me a Long Distance Relationship book, which made me laugh.
Danny has agreed that if we get married, we'll have to take cooking classes. He prefers dessert classes and the idea of microwaveable frozen vegetables, whereas I feel as though it can't be that hard to make chicken dishes and noodle-y things. I burned brats today, and he found that funny. He told me not to worry; he'll cook. He can make: corndogs, hot dogs, frozen pizza, spaghetti. Wow, can't wait. haha, it was the first time I'd laughed all day though, and I appreciated it.
Love, then, love is enough.

The Post-Thanksgiving Update

Perfect snow.
I walked out of class tonight and was greeted by the beautiful sight of falling snowflakes.
Perfect snow, no wind, wet flakes falling down like confetti on the anxious people below. Night is softened by the lights on the trees.
There's nothing like snow and holiday lights, nothing at all.
Things here are being held together simply by will. There is no hope left for bringing things back to where they were; instead, I play the observer and try not to answer their questions about the others.
I have three more days of class left at Loyola, and while I won't miss the institution, I'm going to miss all of the people I've become attached to.
Hunter and Ian came over for Monday Night Football last night, and as they left, Hunter gave me a hug and told me he'd miss me. It's nice to know that there's always something to come back to.
Before I leave, I'd like to go and visit the Peace Garden on the Lake Shore path that winds all the way from the south side of the city to nearly Loyola. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays when I take the shuttle up to the Lake Shore campus, I always watch, and there, on the trail, just off Lake Shore Drive is a little enclave. I never see anyone there. I once saw a woman, sitting there and doing exactly what I would have been doing, contemplating. I still haven't been there, and it's the one thing that I want to do before I go.
I would also like to see the Bean. It's a work of art originally designed for the opening of Millennium Park and the things that the name implies. It's one of my favorite things in Chicago. (I'm sad that Mom and Grandma didn't get to see it while they were here visiting in October)
Other than that, however, I am only looking forward to being home and seeing the mountains again. This winter is going to be great. Danny wants to go snowboarding with me, which I'm unsure about. He's been snowboarding since he was eight, and I've only been three times in my life. When I told him that I'd be on the bunny hills while he would be doing the blacks and blues, he told me that he'd come with me and help me. Which was cute.

Thanksgiving was nice. Of course, my plans fell through for the actual day, in that between visiting Mom at the hospital and seeing Dad's family, we never made it to Aunt Jan's. Now, I know that it was a disappointment to all, but I also wanted to clarify that we were only going to have been there for about a half an hour, so although I felt bad, I didn't feel as though I missed an entire dinner.
Emma and John liked Danny a lot. Emma kept telling us that we had cooties because we were so in love, which made me smile. We built a city out of the blocks, and the kids kept asking him where to put certain things. We made a little corner of the city for a zoo, which we filled with all the toys that we could find. Emma told Danny that he was "the best skyscraper builder ever," and afterward, he admitted that he loved spending time with them. I got to hold the little one, who just made my whole day. Danny didn't want to hold her because he didn't want to upset her, which made me smile.
The drive up to his parents' house was nice. We had to stop because his windshield fluid was frozen and the windshield was getting dirty. I played the role of mechanic and washed his windows for him while he put in new fluid. It was a very domestic moment for us.
He has been suffering with all of the rain in Portland for the last week, so keep him in your prayers.
My application for Metro is in, and I've spoken with Dairy Queen about getting my job back ($10.50 an hour, hopefully more soon enough.)

That was quite a bit of information for one post, so I'll leave it at that. But I promise I'll begin to discuss the move soon.

Communication 228

I remembered last night at one a.m. Right as I was about to drift off into the first interrupted sleep in about a week, it hit me. Whatever it was that had been bothering me all week. I had known it was something, but I had no idea what. I was cranky and short-tempered, and here was the reason. A 6 page analysis of the Clinton-Lewinsky-Starr scandal. Due at 4 pm today.

But, thanks to my incredible luck and typing skills, I woke up at ten thirty and two hours later am done with searching the archives of TIME magazine, writing about the articles, and critiquing them for my paper.

Now onto the next assignment.
A feature story.

Cancer. Kidneys. Monday. MOM.

When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree,
there will be an answer, let it be.
For though they may be parted there is still a chance that they will see,
there will be an answer. let it be.

Let it be, let it be, .....

And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light, that shines on me,
shine until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music, mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Let it be, let it be, .....

Oregon, Over-sensitive

On the way back from the scenic graveyard, we walk the paths covered in fallen yellow leaves or pine needles through the campus, home. Groups of touring prospective students meander by, their tour guides in sweaters and nice shoes. They walk these paths, only to be met with the screams of crazed college students, begging mercy from their dorm rooms. The laughter of nearby (and probably high) students is audible, and the tour guards look exasperated.
They are trying to change their school's reputation, and the students here are not happy about it. From the ravine that has become known for its tree covered spots, to the steps near the school's most scenic pond, to the passageways in the halls of the school itself, the students are discussing, fiercely, the position that they have found themselves in.
It is something of a wondrous sight, seeing students roused about something.

***

I came back here and the minute I hit the ground, I felt it. I felt it come in waves, hitting me harder than I thought it would. It felt like something was weighing me down, and I feel it now. For a second there, in Oregon, snuggled in warm and comfortable, I could breathe.
Maybe that's all love is about, someone else to help you breathe.
He helps me breathe.


But now I'm crying. And I can't stop. I'm emotional. There's someone else sleeping in my bedroom, in the space I've come to call my own.

****

I've had twenty four hours to revive myself, and instead of feeling refreshed, I feel worse. My eyes are heavy, having released into the world so much pain last night, they themselves are feeling it now.
My decision, brewing for so long somewhere between my heart and my brain, is tentatively made. We were lounging, in the little space between the wall and the curtain that is the twin bed, and he touched his finger to my breastbone. I had been going through the list of pros and cons again, and again, more than he ever wanted to hear. "What does your heart say?" he asked me. "That's the answer."
So I have the answer, and I'm keeping it for now, because the minute it passes my lips, the madness begins all over again. It's painfully obvious, of course, and I am contented knowing that my days are numbered here. I tried. I failed, but I'm leaving remotely dignified.
The creature sleeping on the other side of the partition constructed out of cheap desks and chair is the thing that thrust my decision forward for me. I was waiting, waiting for something to show me what I wanted, and now that I've been from breathing uninhibited to wondering if I should sleep on the couch, I know. She's not mean, just a little more than I can handle right now. She took over the room while I was gone, literally, leaving me with probably thirty percent of the space. And the bathroom too. All orange and strange. There are flowers in a vase sitting on the back of my toilet now, and a little can of spray air freshener, and this one kills me, but a little trashcan shaped like a pig. If that doesn't clue you in, let me tell you that she took down one of my posters, and that she talks very loudly.
I know, you're thinking, Katie, give her time, things will be fine.
But I have a feeling. And I go with that. I never disliked Melissa and Gena, and even though we've had our fair share of incidents and moments when things got out of hand, I never felt the way I feel now.
Also, I have no window.

****

Sunday morning, I was flying around Danny's room trying to pack all of my things and somehow compress them into the little suitcase I had brought. (I went four days with nothing but a carry-on that wasn't even all the way full!) He sat perched on his bed, tears sliding out of his silent eyes, scribbling something in his notebook. I checked the clock. Three minutes until we had to leave. I grabbed my stuff, my computer and phone chargers, and put them last places. Cell phone, iPod, Colorado driver's license, check.
I looked at him, impatient. He ripped it out. He pulled off all the loose ends. And then he folded it up and put it in my pocket. "Read it on the plane. You'll love it." I laughed. Later, when we were standing outside the airport, as has become our custom, he told me to read it, that he couldn't wait. And I unfolded it and opened it, and there it was, the first love letter he's ever written me.
I started crying. It's adorable when boys pour their hearts out. And when I looked back at him (he was reading it over my shoulder), he was crying too. It was beautiful.

***
I showed him my movie (that you have all seen and loved, I'm sure). I was so excited to show it to him, because it's something that I did, and that I was proud of. I put more work into that thing than I have into anything else all year. And we watched it and cried together (but in a good way).
It's weird, having someone that I depend on and don't fight with ever and enjoy so much. It's like having Katie, but in man form.

***
I'm applying to DU, CSU and other places. I'm not sure yet. If you have any good suggestions, let me know. Maybe Boulder?

****
Speaking of Boulder:

"It's honestly up in the air," he said. (That's the end of the article I read in the Denver Post about Denver's newest marijuana law. Funny how sometimes figures of speech just work out)
hahahaha......never mind, Mom will get why it's funny.



***
I'm trying to convince Mom that she could use marijuana as a way to reduce pain after her surgery. But she does not agree. (I suspect she---and most of my readers and close family----all voted in opposition of the law.) I think we should all make her some pot brownies. Just a thought, since we probably won't get in trouble even if we get caught. Haha, joking. I have no hope of ever persuading anyone that pot won't kill you. (Even though it won't. Trust me, I know people who know people who smoke pot.)

***

***

He loves me.

: )

Sometimes, that's enough.

Oregon Visit #2.......Perfect.

Well, I'm back in Oregon, and for awhile, at least, everything makes sense. I am calm and stress free, and I actually slept through the entire night last night.
The weather is beautiful, all golden sunshine and fall colors. The air smells like real air and not at all like the city, with its pollution and dirt.
He's happy to see me, of course, and our airport greeting was straight out of a romantic movie.
I'm ridiculously happy, curled up comfortable in the place that I have come to love with the person that I love the most.
I haven't thought about the roommate situation, or food for our place, or next semester at all. I've been relaxing and it's wonderful.
Finally, everything makes sense.

Oregon Visit Number Two Begins.....

It's been an interesting week.
-I am going to Oregon today! My flight leaves at 6:35 out of Midway, and I'll be in Portland around nine. I am so excited. I think this might be the little vacation that I most definitely needed. He's happy, of course.
-I am getting a new roommate. Since I have that extra bed in my room, it was only a matter of time until they moved someone in, so here goes...Her name is Megan and I Facebook.com stalked her and she seems okay. But I'm still not happy. Since I got the email last night at around 8, I had to rearrange my room and clean it before I went to bed. So, I still haven't packed.
-Emily is for sure moving back her next semester. I still don't know what to do. I more than anything want to come home, so I'm wondering how my feelings will play into this one. Anyway, can't register and I don't really care about that.

Hope all is well. Mom finally got her iron up, so I was happy to hear about that.
We've started separating our food between all three of us in order to curb her eating habits. It's working, so far. I bought a whole box of Trix cereal with the money Dad gave me, and it's all mine!
Yay!
Anyway, love from (almost) Oregon!!!!!

November brings change....

As soon as I told her, she said she was coming back. My decision was thrown off once again. I can't stay for her, but at the back of my mind, I wonder if at least it would be bearable.
And bearable looks better on transcripts.
After I talked to Mom, in circles, as usual, I cried at Friday night television. The show, Scrubs, a comedy, portrayed a dying woman and the doctor who was upset and afraid for her to die. He made her a list of all the things that he wanted her to do before she died. She told him she'd done all of those and then told him to take some time for himself.
And that's when it hit me.
I want to come home.
I read all of my archives, of this blog and my others, and I realize that they convey a large sense of discomfort. And I am a natural complainer, but not usually about things like this. I feel like my own soul is begging to leave here, and my writing displays that.
So,
I know where I want to be, and I know where I should be, and those are two very different places.
I think that I will know as soon as I have seen Denver once again.
I'm leaving for Oregon on Wednesday, and until then, I am focusing on staying the course. I asked Danny, just as I asked Mom, and he told me that whatever choice I made was the right choice.
I almost want someone to tell me exactly what to do. But then again, it's not like I'd listen to them.

Insomnia

A sort of insomnia has claimed my night. Sitting in bed, laying next to the teddy bear I've loved since I was little, a penny to remind me of him, and my phone, of course. Sex and the City playing on my tv. Season five, Carrie dates the city the whole time.
My mom didn't want me to take Buddy with me when I went to Chicago, but now that I have him, I am realizing that there is a point at which the teddy bear you've loved since forever has to go. And I will never reach it. I told him that Buddy was falling apart, and he told me he'd buy me a new one. That's the thing, though, nothing can replace him, not ever. He's the grossly gray, ripped and see-through love of my life. He's here with me, he smells like home, and I love him. And if he buys me a new one, I'll add him him next to my other pillows, but he won't ever be Buddy. Maybe.
I also can't wait. Nine days until Oregon. I've been sitting here lately, contemplating my life, reading old issues of Cosmopolitan, thinking about him. And me. And where we're going. I've done the lists, of pros and cons, added them up, weighed risks and counted my options. And after all of that, I'm not done yet. I'm going to give this my all.
Low battery.
Too much thinking and not nearly enough thought.
But...before I go, I will add to my strange new optimistic outlook on love.
Don't judge me. You were in love once. Or maybe you still are.


Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
~William Shakespeare, Mid-Summer Night's Dream, 1595



Life has taught us that love does not consist in gazing at each other but in looking outward together in the same direction. ~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Wind, Sand and Stars, 1939, translated from French by Lewis Galantière


We loved with a love that was more than love. ~Edgar Allan Poe


Goodnight, moon.

Leaving.

The city has a pulse of its own. There is no explaining the rush, the way things move, the way that everything is so close, packed in, on top of everything. The faces, so close together, yet anonymous. A girl sits on the train, sick, and then man across from her hands her a bag. They do not speak. Her unspoken gratitude hangs in the air, dispersed with the opening of the trains and the influx of new people, dressed in costumes. Cars pass me as I walk down the street, blaring music, yelling, loving Saturday night.
I love the quick rush, but more than that, I love the splash of the water against the concrete that separates the city from the lake. I love the way it hits the beaches, little waves onto a little beach. I love the way that you can see the sky from there, green grass and trees. Somewhere, along that path that leads to peace and everywhere, there is a Peace Garden. I'll never get to it, but I want to. Something made it catch my attention from the road, a small enclave in the middle of such a busy world.
I am not happy unless I'm near the lake, and I realize that I cannot live there forever. I cannot spend my winter huddled in the Peace Garden, I cannot wait for spring on the path, watching the waves and the lake turn gray against the sky.
I am coming home. It's been long enough. I'm giving up Chicago, the lake, and the red line so that I can be happy.
August seems so long ago, it's been a long time since. It's not him, I know that's your first thought. He's fine, we're fine. I'm tired, always, about to be left alone with an alcoholic-depressive for spring semester. I won't be alright, if I have to do that. I've been slipping back into it for two months. I didn't think that it would ever happen again, not to me. I'm more detached than ever. I am numb, angry for no reason, unhealthy. Depression, while I live in prime real estate. Who would have thought.
When I called her to tell her what I wanted to do, and for the first time, as I discussed all of the options and weighed them out in my head, I felt something. I felt happy, sort of. Relieved. Lighter.
I miss the mountains.
Emily can't come back. I'll wilt.
I have nothing left to write. I sit down and my mind is blank. I think all the time, it never shuts off. I'm worrying about a million different things, about everything, about Mom, Danny, Katie, Mike, cancer, life, careers, schoolwork.....It never stops. I'm more alone than ever, and I'm surrounded on all sides by people. I don't want to know the people that I do, I make excuses not to hang out.
I'm taking spring semester off, sort of. I'll be living at home, working, and going to school. But just Metro, to keep my brain working, and to not waste money. Applications are going out, to schools, begging acceptance. They'll respond, and my life will continue. I'm not quitting college, I'm adjusting.
Don't say anything. Just realize that no education is worth losing your sanity for. Loyola soon will be nothing but a memory, a past life, and I can settle down and sleep, and breathe. Breathe.
I just want to feel okay again.
I love Chicago. But I love Denver more.

Project

After spending 8 hours clipping, picking, rearranging, organizing, and fiddling, I have finally produced this masterpiece (and I only say masterpiece because I rarely try this hard at anything....and for having no idea what I was doing, I think I did well).

Mumu, when you go to watch it, click on the box (instead of the little "play" symbol in the middle of it) and then once you're at the YouTube site, you can make it full screen. Turn up your speakers, there's pretty music too. There's a little box on the bottom that if you click it will make it full screen. Good luck! (and let me know what you think....he still hasn't seen it. I'm waiting until I go to Oregon to show him)

For your viewing pleasure, I present: Love, or something like it

Quickly

I made a movie this morning. I'll show you all at Thanksgiving. It's a compilation of my pictures and I'm going to show Danny on my next visit.
Surgery has been scheduled!
Relief.
Journey today to get stuff out of storage.

Love

There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.
-Friedrich Nietzsche

Love is everything it's cracked up to be…It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for.
-Erica Jong

In between sleep

Strange dreams have plagued my sleep the past nights.
I am not sure why, and it's overflowing into my waking moments.
I am worried, about him and her, the closest people to me.
I am on guard, constantly, hovering between the edge of anxiety and a perfect calm.
Moods are mellow, there is no joy, no pain.
Only the constant reminder of the future stays my course,
drawing my attention elsewhere.
What good is anything if you're not really there? If you pay no notice to the present?
If you can't concentrate? If you don't know anything, can't process anything, can't think of anything else but everything flowing through your mind at once?

Playing with makeup and the Halloween party.

We played with makeup one night....this is what happened.

Pre-Halloween and final Oregon pictures.

Saturday night was the pre-halloween party at Melissa's friend Kaylie's house at Illinois State University, which is a two hour car ride from Chicago. I dressed as Snow White and spent the better part of the night drifting between people that I knew, making the required small talk. I went outside, to talk to Danny for a little while and get some air, and then ended up having an actual conversation. Another party, another set of faces, and back again. It was enjoyable, but not overly stimulating.
I jumped on the trampoline at Melissa's house today with her and Bobby and her 8 year old brother. That's the one thing I was never allowed to have as a child, and the one thing I always wanted. Relaxing into the couch, curling up with football and a golden retriever, and a home-cooked meal. The drive back, eventually, and the weekend ended.
It's back to the grind again.
The pictures: all of us at Kaylie's; me and kaylie; melissa decided to give me a piggy back ride (at that point i had ditched my cute but painful shoes and slipped into my new favorites.....); Danny and I in Oregon, being young and in love.


Time melds as days turn into nights and then swiftly into days again. Lists and agendas pile up, good intentions never quite turned into actions. Clutter, so carefully attended to for such a long time, piles now, in places most awkward and obvious. THe desk, a dumping ground for paper products: receipts, art supplies, notebooks, textbooks that should have been opened nightly for the past two months. The floor, a collection of dirty laundry and clean, socks, mittens, a duffel bag, the Communist Manifesto. Pictures adorn the walls, models, friends, impressionists, photographs. There is no theme, no rhyme nor reason to the rooms. Now that fall is official, there are Halloween decorations, borrowed from parents whose lives are already set.
It is a question, hanging there, waiting to be answered.
It is the silence that follows, in the moments where one is unsure of what to say, or how to respond.
It is the deafening, the slow quiet in the room.
It is time to explode, to begin, to renew, to live.
She offended me, today, telling me I have nothing to worry about. I laughed it off then, standing at the check-in desk, waiting to let her into the building, but I wanted to tell her that sometimes things aren't what they seem. Set into life, she has it easy. The endless stream of bills is constant. The mortgage payment doesn't change. Her husband's eyes don't wander, her children are safe and happy. She has a career, a path, and I'd assume goals.
I stand on the edge of everything. Of staying, of leaving, of wanting to do what I love and loving to do what I want. I'm confused. I'm thrown and tossed a million different directions, caught between the two cities that I've grown to love and the people that I've become attached to. Every time someone says I'm too young, that I don't know what I'm doing, I become more resolute. Life, to me at least, isn't about doing what you should do, or what will lead to a standard life. I want to follow my heart, and if that leads me somewhere incorrect, then I'll laugh about it, say I made a mistake and keep going. There are times I just want to run away from here, and not look back. I'd pack a duffel bag, taking Buddy and my Winnie the Pooh comforter that I just can't get rid of, and some t-shirts and my clogs and just get away from here. I'd sell my books for plane tickets, and run to him and let him hold me against his shoulder and tell me everything will be alright. Or I'd run somewhere else, and get a job, or a little cottage by a lake somewhere, and spend hours working on the masterpiece that is daily edging itself into my brain. But not much, so don't start holding your breath yet. I want to be happy. I want to experience everything. I want to move around and not settle down. Something happened in me this summer, a sort of yearning for comfort. I no longer want my heart to be broken in one of those heated arguments; I don't want to be with someone just because I think I have to, that I need the practice. I want what I have, right now. It's not that far-fetched of an idea, really. And today, for some reason, we decided, was going to be the day. 3 months, then, we are into this endeavor and I have not wavered in my opinion. If anything, it gets stronger every day. There is a connection there, the sort of thing that I never expected to find.
My clock has been blinking in a strange way, as though the power was turned off, since I got back from Oregon. And every night, I stare at it. I'm beginning to read it as though it was an actual clock. It's only fifty minutes off, so I just sort of do the math in my mind. I don't change it. I wonder how long it will take.
I'm consumed by thoughts of everything. Of worry for the safety of the one person I could never lose, of the success of the procedure people I don't trust are about to embark on. I worry about him, always, just as much as he worries about me. I think about scenarios, I run them through my head. I play with the future, with ideas, places, people, life.
Australia, I think. Maybe.

You never can keep the beautiful feeling for too long.
News this morning broke my heart.
I'll be back home soon to take care of things.
If things get bad enough, I'll stay for longer.
I don't even know what to do.
There is nothing to do, but wait.
He was brokenhearted too at the news.
I made her promise everything would be okay.
She did, but it took her too long.
I'm scared.
I cried for too long.
I couldn't breathe. It was one of those.
Make it okay, please.
I don't pray, but I might start.
I told Katie, and she cried.

Fall Break: Portland, Oregon

It's even greener out here than I expected. As midnight pushed toward morning late Thursday, I came up with an idea that sounded crazy at the time but actually worked out for the better. My flights from Chicago to Denver to Portland were scheduled to commence at 7pm Friday, thus allowing me to attend classes. However, one class was canceled, and since I was only missing two, I figured why not try and get on an earlier flight. The first one to leave Chicago Midway is at 6, and so as dawn crept up on the sleeping city, I was hurtling under State Street in a train bound for the airport. I stood on the outdoor platform of the second train, counting seconds, listening to music not meant for 4:30 am, anything to stay awake.
I made it! The first flight was nice; I sat in the aisle of the first row, which means leg room! There was a lesbian couple next to me attending a wedding in Denver, so we talked for awhile, and then eventually I passed out in my typical plane-sleep position. My head was on my knees, and so the couple next to me thought I was getting sick and tried to help me.
The next flight was sort of successful as well. It didn't strike me as early, even though it was only 8 in the morning. We sat on the runway for the better part of an hour, me stuck between a thin lady and a huge smelly man who kept talking to me. I hate forced airplane conversations with a passion. I mean, it's nice to talk and all, but it's not an inquisition and no I don't care if your daughter has her own business!
Danny met me at the airport. I was a little worried I would walk right past him in the airport, but I most definitely did not. He hugged me, and we stayed that way for a minute as people flowed around us. It was perfect.
They have their version of the Light Rail here. It's smoother than the El, and more like the Light Rail. We rode that from the airport to downtown Portland and then got on a bus to his school. It's beautiful. It's like something out of a fantasy novel. Green grass, trees, little muddy enclaves for students to disappear into. It's wonderful, hilly and damp, green turning to orange and red, overcast skies shedding gray light. At times, when the sun comes out, the forests sort of glisten.
We spent Friday meeting his friends. They are very nice. That was inadequate. I've been typing the same sentence now for at least two minutes because I'm not sure what to say. They're fun. It's been such a perfect long weekend.
Adventure on the way to the hotel. Cab ride, train, and finally the hotel itself. Let me say, you get what you pay for. It was like being back in the 70s. Literally. I think parts of that room were around then, maybe. The V-chip was set so that we couldn't watch any G rated tv, so we missed some great stuff on Animal Planet and Discovery. I'm not even kidding. We did get to see Meekat Manor, though, and our favorite meerkat died. That was sad. And then I fell asleep.
Saturday we just laid around and watched tv. I wanted to take a bath but then realized there was absolutely no way that was going to happen.
It's been so wonderful. I'm so much more comfortable with being away from him, now, I think, but time will iron that out.
Tuesday morning, we cried our eyes out on the way to the airport. Once we got there, we stood there crying against each other's necks for a good ten minutes. Finally, I realized I should probably check in and then we'd have more time to just sit and say goodbye. He walked with me up to the counter, and once I got there, the man couldn't find my reservation. I was sure I bought the tickets, so once he found it, he looked at me and said: "you're not supposed to be here." I was like, well, why not? and he said: "your flight isn't until tomorrow. there's no way you're going to be able to get out of here today."
danny kissed me right then, and picked me up and swung me around. The man at the counter seemed relieved that I wasn't sad. I looked at him and said "this is the best news I've heard all day."
So we went back to Lewis and Clark.
On Saturday night, a woman came up to us in a pizza restaurant. She had talked to Danny for a minute previously, and she introduced herself. She said was "Vickie, I'm no one" and then proceeded to tell me that I was absolutely beautiful and that we seemed happy. Then, as she was leaving, she tapped Danny on the knee and said, "count your lucky stars hippie boy."
And then, oddly enough, the next day on the bus, a man shook Danny's hand and told him that we were a cute couple.
He took me for walks through the forest, and down this beautiful path, and to the reflecting pool. The day that I was supposed to leave, but didn't, Mount Hood was remarkably clear. It was ringed with clouds; they just seemed to part around it, like some sort of purple and yellow halo. I tried to take pictures, but Danny didn't have his camera, so we had to use my camera phone one.
I'll post them, eventually.
The campus is beautiful. Everyone there is so nice and laid back. It's nothing like Chicago, at all. There are no blond girls with big boobs. Everyone is doing their own thing. One day, we went through some trees on the other side of a lawn, and walked up some stairs into them. Inside, it was like another world. We were surrounded on both sides by trees, but there was a path through it. We got to a clearing, where the sunlight could get in and the branches made natural sitting spots. I looked back, where we had come from, and saw that it was a singular path leading out of the trees. It is beautiful. The trees are starting to change colors, going from delicious green to a nice rusty red and yellow.
I was worried about this whole relationship on Thursday. I was freaking out that he didn't love me for some reason. I was nervous, I think, to meet his friends and see the people who get to see him everyday and now I think I'm okay with that. I am much calmer about things.
This is something weird. This feeling is the kind of feeling that people only get in movies. We're in sync with every aspect of everything. We both think about the future. He makes me laugh. He thinks I'm cute and funny and smart. (He told me.) He kisses my forehead, and then each of my cheeks, and then the tip of my nose every morning.
We sat in his room watching a movie one day and it just turned into us laying there laughing and talking. I miss that.
I met all of his friends, and got along with most of them. I had so much fun. His roommate, eh, not so much. He's passive aggressive and sort of annoying. He was most definitely not happy about me being there, and especially not when I told him I was staying one more night.
But I haven't been this happy since I left for school. Everything sort of fits into place again. This morning was horrible, especially. When we woke up, it sort of hit me. He was crying before we even left. I was packing, and I looked up, and he wasn't looking at me. I looked and saw tears.
It killed me. I started crying, too.
I'm not spending any money this month so we can split plane tickets so we don't have to spend 44 days apart. It just hurts too much. We agree.
Yay! I didn't think this would work. And it is. We're good. I was reassured this weekend. It was like we'd never been apart.
Pictures up soon!
This was updated Wednesday night. Late.

The Chicago Visit....

It went well. I had fun. Homework calls though, now. A real update later.

Babies!

I am going to see Sarah's baby today! I can't wait. The train ride will be an hour out and then an hour back in, and it will most definitely involve a time crunch, because I don't get out of class until 3:35, I'll catch the shuttle at 3:50. The train leaves at 4:44, so with any luck, I'll be there on time.
Emma Rae Lavery is 7 lbs, 14 ounces and she's beautiful. I spent so much time watching Sarah grow into a mother last year. I remember when she first started showing, I remember sitting through morning sickness, and this is the final product, a beautiful baby girl.
I love babies.

This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.

William Shakespeare

My Next Story.

A detective who handled the case was shocked to see a juvenile who was convicted of armed robbery and placed under house arrest playing on the high school football team.
Detective Larry Chevez was attending his son’s football game at Kennedy High School last Saturday when he noticed a 16-year-old youth that he arrested several months prior playing on the opposing team. “I was amazed to see someone charged with an armed robbery with a handgun playing on the field,” Chevez said today.
The youth was charged with armed robbery of a pizza delivery woman and released from a juvenile detention facility and subsequently placed under house arrest. He was ordered by a judge not to leave his house except to attend school and is monitored by an electronic bracelet that was attached to his ankle.
He plays for the Colonial High School football team, coached by Tony Guarino, who gave an exclusive interview today. “We just taped the bracelet up real good,” he said, acknowledging that he is aware of the youth’s house arrest and constant monitoring. School superintendent Gary Hubbard addressed the issue by saying that juveniles under home detention are allowed to participate in school functions, adding that students are not always suspended for crimes committed off campus.


Once again, these are all fake stories, put into my textbook by means of a paragraph of information, and then I turned it into this. My teacher read it today and asked me if I had any prior experience and when I told her I didn't, she told me that I have a knack for writing the news.
Yay!

September at the Beach.

I brought a long curtain, and laid it out on the beach. They set down their stuff, backpacks, shoes, and they left with their roller blades to go along the lake. I sat in my swimsuit in the oddly warm September air, and let the sun wash over me. I walked up to the water, and walked in up to knees, finding it too cold to actually swim in. As the sun faded into shadow behind the buildings, I watched the people around me. A little girl pulling a makeshift kite behind her. She was skinny, like little kids are, running back and forth between the edge of the lake and her mother, sitting in a beach chair a little ways away. Two men, laying on a blanket, enjoying the sun and obviously their mutual adoration of each other. A man in a thong, super toned and tan, actually jumping into the lake and swimming out to the orange and white buoys that mark the end of the pedestrian swimming area. I pulled my book out and read, uninterrupted, for the first time since I've been here. I took a picture of the sand, the city and the lake and sent it to him. It was nice to lay there, and to talk to him and to read and to watch everyone. When they came back, the sun had almost gone down and there was a little bit of a chill in the air.
And I finally slept well, for the first time in awhile.
He had a nightmare about me, and I felt bad, because I've been upset lately before I go to sleep and last night we talked for an hour before bed and we laughed and it was like we were hanging out again. As soon as I hung up the phone, I slipped into a peaceful sleep, and didn't wake up until six. And then again at ten.
Fifteen days. I called and made sure that my miles were going to count for that trip. I'm excited, because he's going to come out for last week of his winter break, maybe. I've been planning ahead, lately.

My Very First News Story. Sort of.

Well, here it is: It's fake. And I only had limited details to work with, but here's my final draft of a news article. Ah! Sort of exciting.

A 9-year-old Rockford resident’s challenge of a decision to close her roadside business led to victory today, allowing her to reopen her lemonade stand after it was shut down yesterday. A city code enforcement officer stopped by Stephanie Courhesne’s lemonade stand and forced her to pack up her things yesterday afternoon.
Stephanie’s father called city councilman Alyce Cycler to complain immediately. The councilwoman promised to have the issue resolved immediately and today, the code enforcement supervisor overruled the original decision.
After hearing about the decision, the mayor announced that she intends to become a regular customer of the lemonade stand, located on Highland Drive.

Stephanie Courhesne sets up her roadside lemonade stand outsider her home at 1186 N. Highland under the supervision of her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Adolph Courhesne. On weekends during the summer months, Stephanie charges a quarter for a cup of lemonade and a dime for a cup of water.
Her business is successful, bringing in about $3 to $5 a day, sometimes more when the weather is nicer. Stephanie must reimburse her mother for the cost of goods, but after that, she divides her profits between personal interest and her church. Ten percent of her profits go to the church; another ten percent goes into savings, and the rest is hers to spend “to buy toys, clothes, candy, and stuff.”
After she was noticed by a city code enforcement officer yesterday, she was forced to pack up her stand and take her cups, cooler, cardboard sign, and umbrella inside. Her father was upset, and after complaining to city councilman Alyce Cycler, the issue was resolved in less than twenty four hours.
The city code enforcement officer’s supervisor overruled the original decision and said that it was an error in judgement and also that Stephanie is welcome to sell as much lemonade as she can.
Stephanie’s lemonade stand is in a perfect spot, because Highland Drive is a popular place for people to jog, roller skate and walk near Lake Clarity.