mother earth lives in oregon. on MY beach.

i was walking, off to my reading spot. and there she was. right above where i sit. the recent rains must have brought her out.

she faces the sea. and there she sits. watching. i sat at her feet and cried like a child .

her substantial breast and open lap await those looking for her.


and so i sat and prayed. and cried again.

my guess is that with mother earth and mother ocean sitting side by side the energy is incredibly strong.

with the ear of the earth and the ocean, i demanded more. for myself and for my friends.

as i finished, the sky opended and sheets of rain fell full and fast. the red clay began to run downt he sand below her and i knew that a birth was occuring.

thank you and happiest of new years

i wish peace, love and happiness to everyone i know.

i lit a white candle in the window tonight, the light meant to shine warmth on my loved ones. the white for purity and peace. i pray that warm white light reaches those i love the most. i pray the sight of the candle brings peace to those who see it. i pray that the wind that rolls tonight carry my prayers across the many miles to my family and friends. i pray that the rain that falls tonight cleanses the earth and refreshes those upon it.

my holiday wish list:
to my parents i wish comfort of thought
to my brother i wish abstinence and airplanes
to amy s i wish quiet moments
to amy l i wish forgiveness
to barb i wish creation
to dave i wish market smarts
to egan i wish cheese
to brian i wish, naw you got married, you got your wish...
to tim i wish continued laughter at seniors
to stan i wish happy ports of call
to ryan i wish kindness
to my coworkers i wish a start date
to vinnie i wish bliss, it does exist
to pie i wish open eyes
to toby i wish green acres
to josh i wish better company
to jim i wish i knew
to devin i wish the rapture of first love
to portia i wish continued courage of conviction, and fewer roast beef jokes
to kathy i wish his vacuum worked (and for pictures)
to all else, i wish the beauty of a moment shared, and the appreciation for what we have, for who we are, and for what we can create.

blessed be.

months ago i stood stagnant and sinking in a city i'd once loved. a single word had encroached upon the forefront of my mind and brought me to tears of sadness and loss.

sanctuary

today, as i walked along the water's edge, her frothy fingers baptizing me lightly, the word returned. but this time with a smile and lightness and tears.

sanctuary

mother blessed me with that. and the stillness of mind that it brought was so profound that i found myself writing the word in the sand. my marker. my flag. i had claimed my sanctuary on this shore.

i walked farther. sat on my rocks. watched as black birds floated on the white caps of the ocean. the sea was turning cartwheels on herself. tumultuous and full bodied. but the birds sat quiet, lilting. natural black buoys just off the rocks. and that was how i felt. buoyed and lifted, calm despite the storm.

i prayed and asked mother once again to allow me to embody her grace, strength, beauty and power. i asked that she bestow on me her powers of creation and destruction. and she came to me. rolling just up to where i stood, allowing me to bend to her, dip my hand and return the kiss.

i asked that the wind lead me in the right direction. and at the moment a gust blew from behind me and caught my hair. i couldn't see beyond the tangled mess, but trusted that the nudge from the wind was my answer. she would take me where i needed to go if i simply trusted her.

i have never felt more at home, more loved, more cared for, than when i'm on the beach, the ocean breathing and heaving before me.

yemaya, mother ocean, water goddess, bless and keep me.

blessed be.

ten years ago i would have died.

five years ago i would have sunken into the depths of despair.

two years ago i would have wretched and recoiled.

a year ago i would have spent hours worrying about it and wondering how to make it right.

today, last night, now. no. sure, it felt as though i'd been punched in the stomach to hear someone i've cared so deeply for call me self-conscious, self-effacing, and "playing stupid". but it's okay. and who am i to tell him that his opinion is wrong, to fight him, to try to change his mind? no. i allow him that. it doesn't effect me too badly. sure, i don't like that he sees me that way. but he also hears only his own voice. the rest of us are fools, fodder or mute to him. i love him still. he's a beautiful person. and i love him even more for allowing me to see even clearer my own strength.

when she wakes
she's reminded
of life that
dreams erased


i have this friend. dave. he's lovely. an amazing person.
you can't tell his quiet, it's either shyness or arrogance.
he listens to music with entire being. he feels it.
he doesn't know how wonderful he really is, though i know people tell him.
be pursued my boy! languish in the attention and attraction of others. know that it is deserved.
you're truly beautiful, from every angle i could i see, and i know i saw only a few.

the seal returned today.

i'd been praying/talking/meditating. i had just tasted the water when she returned.

she didn't have to walk the whole way of the beach with me this time. i think she knows that i understand now.

she simply poked her head up. looked steadily at me and dove off.

i think she may be my guide.

bless you mother ocean, sister sea and the powers that reside within me.

i had the most amazing walk the other day.

tigger and i had just finished our run. she lags a bit on the last half mile, but she does it because she knows there is promise of an end soon in sight.

after the run, i had promised her a trip down to the beach, to chase birds. we walked and picked up rocks (ryan, i think i found one of those fossilized wood pieces you were looking for). we got down to my reading rocks. some asinine individual up on fisherman's rock thought it was okay to talk to me. luckily i could see that the conversation would forever exist on a monosyllabic plane and cut my losses quickly. i harnessed up the dog and started walking back. i was talking to my dear mother ocean, sister sea, asking for things, praying, meditating. i ended on so 'mote it be' and looked to the side. there, just at the drop off about 30 feet away, was a seal. bobbing along. i tried to get tig to look and it was horrendous trouble holding myself back from walking just a little, just a little farther into the water. as we walked, the seal swam with us. kept pace right along side up. once in a while she would dip under and be gone for a minute or so, and tig and i would slow down a little but not too much. and there she would be again. right in line with us. the seal stayed directly to my left the entire time, until i got back to the beach access and then disappeared.

i'm taking this as a sign that the ocean has been listening to me and blesses me. and maybe (vinnie) it was the oceans way of telling me that i can be her when i grow up!

she could see him outside her window. the flick of his lighter was the key. otherwise he might have gone unnoticed. but she knew, and she knew it was him. he'd called twice that day and she'd all but pulled the phone from the wall.

this was not an over-reaction. just a passionate one. he had told her that he was seeing someone new. that they were over. she'd hung up at that point. who really needs to hear more? but he needed to say more, to meld it into her heart and mind that she was not the object of his desire.

well enough. he'd driven up a moment ago. she could always tell the way he squealed around the corner at the top of the block. no reason to, he just would. maybe it's likend to the guys with the crusher handshakes--a show-offy over-compensation thing. that would make sense with him.

she heard the squeal as she'd exited the tub. still pink and dripping footsteps across the livingroom. her bedroom blinds were half open. she'd pulled them back earlier to watch an incoming storm. the electricity still glinted in the air. candles lit her room. that the only light inside.

and the flick of his lighter outside. he hadn't reached the door. he'd caught sight of her through the shades first and lingered. maybe he was stalling. or maybe he was watching. regardless, she languished in an aphrodite mentality. she was the embodiment of love and passion and fertility. maybe it was knowing that he was out there, or maybe it was the goddess herself filling her with this strength and beauty.

she sat cross-legged on the bed, bolster by pillows or scarlet and wine. she picked a book from the nightstand. kafka. and she read. book open on her intertwined calves, wet hair falling in gentle waves over her breast. she smiled. turned on her side, her back to the window and read her book. an hour passed before she heard the squeal around the corner again. it was quieter this time. a disappointed disillusioned squeal. more a timid squeak.

she read another hour and fell asleep contentedly, still feeling beautiful, strong, and loving.

he wouldn't call again. afterall, what would a man dare say to a goddess?

this is not a true story. there is no fact in the characters played this evening.

i want to tell a story though. the problem is that i can't remember how it starts. nor can i recall how it goes. i'm just sure there's a story.

there was the moon. i know that. i can see it most distinctly. a phantasmal orb hanging on black satin. no strings to hold it or keep it still. just the trust of air and space and little children looking up with eyes just as white and wide. that moonlight, that winter light. the only source of light that is so piercingly cold it lends to couples clinging closely to another and inciting warmth. a cold that leads to warmth. the contrast of pure glacial white against pitch. all the opposites existing at once.

so there was the moon. and the water. listening now i can hear it. the ocean roll and roar that creeps and crashes burrowing her watery hands deep into sandy shore. we dive into liquid and she into solid. she tends her rock garden, pulling the most shimmering specks and finest flecks to the top then ebbs back to examine her work, taking what she dislikes with her into miles of azure corduroy, gentle fluid hills and valleys reflecting the cool midnight moonlight.

there was a hand in mine. soft skin, strong intention. like he was afraid that if he held it any tighter the truth of his thoughts would be known through the coursing of his blood so briskly beating just beneath. that or it was the tenderness of careful love masking the pounding possessiveness of passion. but it wasn't just a hand it mine, like the hands you holding during hymns. the hands that lay flat in yours. no, there was intention in the shape of his hand. it formed to mine, cupping, enclosing, imprinting on mine, hoping to leave its design, mark or warmth or scent there long after the clasp opens.

i wish i knew the rest.

two hours in Yachats

that was enough. it could start off like a joke "a girl walks into a bar" only it wouldsn't be a joke and it's only mildly funny.

the newspaper advertizes "sesmic gyspy hipno jazz". who could turn that down? (or say it three times fast for that matter?) i've missed chicago jazz, the gypsy jazz thing is close to my heart. so what the bar is 40 minutes away in a place i've never been and i'm going alone.

drive. park. get out. go in. orient.

the band is already playing and i'm glad i'm there. looking around, the clientel isn't what i had expected. 40's 50's 60's. the band is young, my age, from portland. but the crowd... and then i think, is this what it means to get older? that the crowds i'm surrounded by are automatically getting older too?

find a table. sit down. light up. relax.

ten minutes in and there's no drink in my hand, and no server has asked if i want one. must not be a 'service' place. fine. up to the bar. order gin and tonic. somewhere next teo me, somthing speaks. a man seems to have materialized out of the wallpaper, kind if a fade in effect. "you have pretty hair" the image says. i looked around. seriously. not the bitchy 'are you talking to me?' look around but the 'does anyone else see this guy?" look around. there are other eyes on me and i decide wallpaper guy is least threatening. "thank you. that's very nice of you to say". grab your drink and walk away.

concersation avoided. or so i had thought. fucking santa claus is in front of me now. seriously, no drugs involved here kids but it's starting to feel a little hunter s. thompson. "pick a number between 1 and 12" santa says. i'm wondering if the wrong number will delay the arrival of that easy bake oven i'm wanting. "11" i say. birthday number. had to be done. "did i win?", "close" he says. now i'm expecting coal.

where the hell is my table?

sitting. drinking. listening. happiness.

another cigarette into the set i hear commotion at the table next to me. lot's of "what's that smell?" and "that's awful, it smell's like..." used to this, i ignore it. not because i'm used to being malodorous, but becuase i know it's the honeyrose's i'm smoking. fuck em, i think. it's a bar. they'll get over it.

finally a couple under 40 walks in and sits at the table adjacent to mine. at a break between songs i ask if the girl would watch my drink while i run to the restroom. "sure" and a smile. the first noncreepy thing all night. in the bathroom stall there is a chalkboard. written in scrolly orange chalk is "happy halloween. there are swinger here tonight looking for a partner." fuckin' santa! it's all clear now. having forgotten the swing code and secret handshake for a moment, i now realize he was looking for the number "3". just don't touch anything in there.

band takes a brief intermission. almost the moment that thier instruments are easied from thier hands, some woman has run up and turned on the jukebox, directly next to the stage. it lights up, pages flip and something country starts to yarl from the speakers. if you know jukebox country, you know that yarl. i chit chat with the youngsters. from portland. here for a beach weekend. seen the band before. love em.

light up again. within seconds the comments start again from the table behind. "smell" and "awful" and "crab shit" are lobbed. now, i'm a firm believer that if you don't want someone to hear something, you probably shouldn't say it out loud. and the drink is setting in and warming me and loosening my own tongue. picking up an empty pack of my cigarettes, i walk to the other table and place them down. eyes on me. "they're mine". silence. "they're herbal". they're all turning looking at eachother. "i know they don't smell your winston's but they're just rose, clover and marshmallow". the woman standing lets out an "oh" and her chest sinks in about three inches. "we just didn't know what it was" someone says. "i know" i say.

sit. drink. swell with pride a little. smoke. smoke. smoke.

the band is starting and no one has bothered to turn the box off. it's playing a door's tune and the fiddler is plucking along, kinda making a joke out of it. i find i'm walking to the bar to ask for them to shut it off at the same time as the band's friend is. he asks. he tinkers around behind the machine. nothing happens. a guy that looks like a hell's angel in fisherman plaid walks over and helps.

music. pencil in hand, muse has struck and i'm writing poetry in time with the music. for the music. not "for the music" as a song, but in tribute. sketching and writing and drinking and smoking. all a blur. the band is thirsty. talking another break.

the hair officianado has gotten closer and drunker and louder. it seems time to make leave. pay the bill. look for the band's tip jar. it's a water pitcher. "i'm not going to contaminate your water, am I?" flashing a five to the drummer and motioning to the jar, just to make sure that this was the proper place for my gratuity. "i don't think you could contaminate anything" he says, "well maybe minds. i bet you could contaminate minds". i'm confused, smiling, nodding and walking out. what did that mean? was it a compliment or a dig? can't tell. would a compliment have the word contaminate in it?

home. safe. 2 hours in Yachats was enough for one night.

really, she just wanted to scream at him, "you can't say those things!" how did he not know that it was the nice words, the kind words, the loving words that hurt most of all? she knew, she couldn't let herself believe any of it. couldn't let it sink in and root, for fear that it might grow and spread like a virulent fungus.

in her mind she ran through all the possibilities. maybe he meant it as a joke. maybe he was drunk. maybe he thought you were someone else. maybe that knock on the head you gave him last week finally settled in to extreme brain damage and he has no idea what he's saying. that's it. it's a sort of sort of word-salad that coincidentally came out as, "i love you". it could have been any other words or complete nonsense. "garbage dimple wait" might have just as easily come out of his mouth.

so it's aphasia. now she could breathe.

but, what if, she though, what if he hadn't been joking or drunk or mistaken or linguistically damaged? what if he had meant it? did he mean it as a friend? it didn't sound like the "love ya's" that get thrown about at the end of day with the girls. and certainly guys don't shout out "love's" after a round of football and beer? do they? she did remember that night, when they were all a little too high and buzzed off the '6 buck chuck' that she'd picked up at trader joes. he got a little mushy and slushy of speech and said, "i love you guys" right as the pizza came out of the oven. but that too, that's different. that was aimed at a group (or the characters on 'will and grace' that danced across the scene, she really can't be sure thinking back).

she was getting angry now. it had started off as a blush of the cheek and a 'charlie brown' kick at the dust moment, but it had turned into deep magenta, volcanic rage that threatened to burn her up from the inside out. "you just can't say that to someone!" open your mouth, she admonished herself, tell him, blugeon him they way he just did you. sling a "fuck you too" right back at him. because that's was what this was amounting to. because really. if she had let herself think for one moment that what he said was real, she'd get used to it. she'd get comfortable with the idea. she might even hope/expect/need to hear it again. and that, that's where the real trouble starts. because that's when you never hear it again.

"you're amazing, you know?". what the hell did he think he was doing? could he not see that she was seething with confusion? christ, this guy has balls! it's been less than a minute and he's lobbed two... TWO... of these at her. she couldn't recover.

her body was betraying her though. that warmth, that flutter, it was all starting. she might even have been starting to smile. STOP IT, she commanded herself. she had waited so long for those words to slip from someone's heart. her head was going one way and her body and heart the other. she felt like a wishbone on thanksgiving, being yanked apart by two snotnosed, grease-mouthed children.

she watched his mouth begin to open again. damn, he's going to say something else. damn he's pretty. "you too", she said. maybe that will stall him. she'd seen him start to form a word, like watching a car skidding out of of control in painfully slow motion. she'd seen it and stopped it. but, "you too," was that the best she could come up with? hey, at least it had worked. nope, he's doing it again. forming words. bad, stop, please, no more. i beg you.

he's twitching. it's a tic. no, it's a stoke, she knew it, he's not thinking straight. oh, he's reaching into his pocket. "phone's on vibrate, let me get this" he says. "go for it, i gotta get out of here anyway. i'll see ya" she half whispers/half speaks.

and she's out the door and breathing free in less time than it takes for an embolism to rupture. digging into her purse, she roots around for her own phone. a quick flip and dial and her sister is on the line. "how did it go?" her sister asks.

"third dates are the worst!" she says, "you just never know where they're gonna go".

i finished toby's monkey man hat.

crocheted a brown hat with big brown and pink-insided ears on either side.

like the kin in the picture.

he wore it. got this email from him and laughed so hard i was in tears.

maybe you have to know toby, and if you do, get the image in your head.

here's the email...

got the hat yesterday.
its cool.
thanks.
some chick wants to buy one.
can't have mine...
anyway,
let's get to the action.
it was saturday.
i'm six beers in and need to piss.
i knock on the men's room door...
it's occupado.
i wait.
i wait.
i wait.
i make several wiseass comments pertaining to the possible activities in the bathroom.
dude comes out in a suit looking all mafia-d the fuck out.
he looks at me cockeyed and says, "you're real funny mickey mouse. real funny."
i didn't feel like explaining.
i pee.
i pee.
i pee.
this black dude comes in the bathroom, i shut the door in his face.
all i can hear outside the door is,
"what the fuck was that?"
"no, in there...."
"what the fuck was THAT?!"
i mean really. in that second all he prolly saw was hair, hair, penis and monkey hat.


good times

tell me, do you like me?
now that i'm you?
now that i've taken the skip from my stride
and the sweater muzzled slouching repose?

i've dropped the slang and never swear,
i heard once you didn't like it.

tell me, do you like me?
now that i'm you?
now that i disregard those i don't want to see
and turned my back on those who need me?

i've droped the ball you left behind,
i heard you say it wasn't yours to carry.

he knows what he wants--
an esoteric ideal Aphrodite muse
who quotes shakespeare and cnn
then falls quivering to her knees to accept him.
but her, the one he hasn't seen--
her blue jeans, inquisitive eyes
and caustic tongue are stuff of mortals,
politics a bore, she quotes film instead.
a decade done, adrift, apart, divided,
an accidental network reuinites them-
which pleasantries to exchange,
those of lovers, friends or strangers?
she knows what she wants--
those devious eyes that saw through the bitch
that held her down when her mind wouldn't keep still,
that searched for her longing, lacivious letters in blue.
but him, the one she hasn't seen--
time has civilized and sobered,
matured him into a full bodied white collar
dulled his gaze and of his azure hair.

not waking 

this reawakened desire,
visceral tug,
wakes her and shakes her
in a desirous flood.
the volumious darkness,
still, empty, midnight,
phantom hands grip her
with promised delight.
they know her dreams,
her fantasies bare,
materialized her mind
with a physical tear.
she knows too well
not to open her eyes,
to let in the "real",
lest the moment subsides.
a tongue, a nail, traces
the length of her thigh,
tender yet forceful commences
this sensuous ride.
lips float on her neck
while teeth pierce at her breast
a new mouth envelops
her moistening lips.
hands pour over her flesh,
and it heats and it writhes,
touch probing onward
places she hides.
a kiss at her wrist lingers,
caressing the lines
totems of pain
shunned my most eyes.
but her lover's hands hold her,
delights in her whole,
as a ravaged and ravishing
woman-goddess-story untold.

i miss you rapture. wherever you are, please come home to me. your extremes, your fire, your tangling embrace and lusty breath. if you read this, come back. i'm waiting, but my patience is growing thin.

my new home 

she is beauty,
gentle curves, heaving peaks,
edges trailing in natural lace,
decorated in pearls and gems.

she is creation,
forming fresh valleys and hills,
changing them at whim.

she is destruction,
breaking down mountains in her path,
shattering rock in a single push.

when she purges,
man and animal both
scuttle and pick at the treasures she leaves.

when she steals,
its not need, but an act of power,
reminding you who is in control.

she will play as a child,
gentle and bubbling,
as the babe who clings to patents leg and rides atop the foot,
so she does.

she will fight as an adult,
pushing, tugging, slapping, choking,
invoking full force, establishing dominance and pulling back,
so she does.

she wraps you, cradles you, carries you,
as any good mother would.

she is poetry and legend and archetype,
as any good muse would be.

she reflects the breadth of the sky
and the blue of your eyes
and the rush of your blood
and the pounding of your heart
and the darkness of your depths
and the fluidity of your smile.

brian... my sweet brian. the boy from savannah. the sex in savannah. my love during georgia southern.

he's to be married. it's what he always wanted. the wife and the kids and the kids and the kids, and a house and all that.

i couldn't give it to him, and i'm not entirely sure he wanted it from me. he did at one moment refer to me as repulsive or maybe it was just the cut.

regardless, he's set to marry on october 22. not long off.

i wish him all the best. i love him all the more for making his own dreams come true.

if she unflods more of her petals

her naked vulnerabilites expose

if she holds the petals too tightly

they'll decay and rot her to the core

i leave soon. to oregon. to this promise in a land i've never seen and not a soul who knows my name.

i could recreate, intensify, demystify. i could become the person that you've always wanted me to be.

i could lose myself all over again, or i could ground further in the totems that have named and realized me.

i can walk away from him, his shit. i can never talk to him again.

i can force her to grow up without me for a while, try to figure out her own paths and stop reveling in my war wounds as if to make them hers.

i can be out from under them and their money.

i can swim free and become the ocean. i will embody the fluidity and strength, power and motion that she is. i will be the sea.

im ready to die.

this can't go on much longer.

pills and a plastic bag.

the notes are written. i cried the whole time, but i don't see another way.

so much debt. i can't even answer my phone. and i can't ask for help. i'm such a burden.

i'm ready.

just have to figure out the time.

i almost want to scream for help, but i can't.

i had a dream about him last night. i woke up and couldn't figure out if it had been real or a dream. it was awful. i went to his house and was hanging out on his couch. i noticed a feminie looking backpack. i asked if he had company. he said he did and i heard crawling around from his loft/bed. he said, "dusty's here". i got up and told him i wanted my shit back. my dvd, my videos and my puzzle ring. he told me to chill out and dusty came down in a t-shirt and nothing else. i told him to get my shit now. he started scrounging around, packing my things in pizza boxes. handed them to me and i walked out. he got in his truck and i started yelling at him. he pulled up next to me. i was screaming that i never wanted to hear from him again. never call me. i don't want to see you. and he was screaming the same things, over my voice. telling me he didn't want to see me, that he didn't love me, didn't want me and what was it going to take for me to get that. i turned around and started walking to find my car. i couldn't find it. two guys asked me what was up. it was the middle of the night and i'm walking the street in a pajama top. i told them i was looking for my car and couldn't find it. i kept walking. said i would walk home. to lawrence, from chicago and western . i headed down western and was freezing and sobbing.

it was so real. in the dream, i woke up in my parents house. they all acted like nothing was wrong and then said that the couldn't find me last night, that i had disappreared. but now here i was.

i need to die soon. this is unbearable.

so lonely. so broken. so in debt.

it hurts to breathe.

it's back.

full force.

i'm dying.

i can feel it in every cell of my body. the urge to die.

and the pills. i just keep taking them. i'm pretty sure i'm at toxic levels of aspirin, and i felt like shit the last few days for it. but i keep taking them. i need help or i need to die.

and i have no one that i can tell who won't react with fear/hospitalization/firing me/ or losing respect for me. this is why i should just die.

easier on everyone.

i seem perfectly content to continue having my butterfly wings ripped off by the boy.

hung out the other night after his show. his friend rob asked questions about us. we had different answers, like had we dated? i said not really, he said yes.

i heard him and two other guys talking when they thought i was out of earshot. they told him that i was giving off signals that he wasn't picking up. he told them i'm just a great friend.

he knows how i feel. for god's sake, i told him that i love him. yet he doesn't care. i think he understands that i care about him and may even appreciate it and enjoy being loved, but the fact that he can't or won't reciprocate those feelings--kills me.

i want him to see me.

this story is old.

i have no money. i have no life. my job is wearing on me. i'm having trouble finding reasons to wake up in the morning.

i did it. i told him. the stupid girl in me rushed forward and did it.

he had an audition in new orleans for a "be the next lead singer of inxs" thing. i got dad to get him buddy passes so that he could fly cheap. i took him to the airport and watched his dogs for him while he was gone. i wanted to badly to kiss him either when i dropped him off at the airport or when i picked him up, but i didn't. then i cried oer my lack of spine.

we gets back, says he owes me, gives me the postcard that i had asked for. we hung out that night, drinking and watching a dvd. he got tired and said he was going to bed. i asked if i could crash till i sobered up. he handed me a pillow and blanket for the couch. i told him i was just going to go home. cried all the way.

don't worry, it gets more pathetic.

monday night he called a few times. wanted to know if i wanted to hang out. of course. so i met him for drinks after hours at big city, josh came along too. they both oohed and ahhed over the girl behind the bar who happens to bear my name. sarah jane. asked me if she wasn't the sexiest girl. cute sure, but not the be all end all. josh asked me to go home with him. pie took me home. i asked him to come in and he declined. said he needed to get home to his dogs. we talked a bit more in the car (5am). mentioned that he wanted me to go to new orleans with him some time. that he thought i would like it. told me he broke up with tiffany and that he was loving being single. couple this with him calling me sexy all night nd the drinks i'd had... you see where this is going.

i asked him again if he wanted to come in, told him i just didn't want to sleep alone tonight. he told me he would love to take me in and bend me over the couch, but that he needed to go. heart breaking and courage crumbling, i got out of the car, went around to his side, and mustered up the courage to kiss him. then told him i was going to say something and walk away, and that i didn't want him to say anything. i told him that he is an incredible friend and that i don't want to lose that. i told him that i love him. he said something, and i reiterated, "no, i love you." and i walked inside. i think he said something but i was too struck by my own stupidity to hear.

i'd given him a lighter that night. a purple zippo that i got for him. he laid his on the counter. i have it and egan tells me to never give it back.

i just want to hold on to him. i want to fall asleep in his arms and wake up next to him. i want his warmth. i want to listed to him talk excitedly about music and watch him do that little bouncing thing he does when he gets silly-excited. i want him to love me too.

but now, i can't call him, though i want so badly to, to hear his voice. it takes all my strength to get through the day.

i've cut over this. i hate it, but i'm compelled.

silly silly girl.

not an upward spiral or a downward. is it possible to have a lateral spiral? just mild loops of good and bad, confusion and clarity, content with life and desire for death.

egan is a little upset with me. seems she and dave just can't play nice and now i'm in the middle. ah, the middle. normally i would jump at the opportunity to be in the middle of a threesome, but this one is just trouble. they work together and can get along great there, but outside of the office-- yikes. tension and accusations and misinterpretations abound.

its a shame too, because i have an amazing time with both both of them, but for some reason they each have this infinitly thick barrier of defense around them. a single word is an attack on the other.

was it my idea to be so strong,
to set my jaw so straight i can't move it anymore?
how did i chose to hold yours up
when mine was droped and lost so long ago?

i feel like the ghost of a perfect stranger.

there is little to me and i don't understand the little that's there.

i've felt my heart breaking. it does it slowly, thinking i wont notice. that maybe i will think that the chill that's taken over me is due to the ravaging cold that blows outside.

i know better though. i've felt all this before. heard the deafening silence that screams though my house and mind . the quiet that assails me the moment i wake up, and mocks me to sleep at night. it's lullaby is one that i can do without, but i know all the words.

i've felt this before. the nothingness that creeps into my chest and pulls my ribcage tight against my spine. hitching my breath and stilling my heart.

i close my eyes and i see her. the woman i know to be myself, the woman i've seen since i was a child. she shakes her head and wrings her hands with a knowing, disapproving stare that i can't escape. she hates me. i can feel her judgment and know that it's my own. i open my eyes and can't reproduce her in my mind's eye, couldn't give a clear description, and that's the way she wants it. as long as i can't see her fully, i can't get rid of her.

and the red. the crimson rivers that i dream of. the blood baths. i feel my own veins reaching for the surface, begging to be opened, to empty, to release. afterall, that really is what i seem to be craving. release. release from pain. release from monotony. release from heartache and loneliness.

i know these cravings will dissipate. i remember them coming and going. and i know that my longing for death, for an end to this life, will wane and i will return one day to the contented plodding that i call my life.

but for now, i am tired. this world is not strong enough to hole me. and i am not strong enough to hold onto it.

this is the moment of my discontent.

happy face and all that shit have lost it.

another scar to stress over. it wouldnt bleed like i wanted it to. i didn't hurt like i needed it to.

pills that only make me sleep for hours not days or eternities.

i'm alone. and not in the sense that there is no one around me, but in the sternum caving in and pressing against verterba kind of loneliness. where even i don't exist enough to keep myself company.

the fact that i inflict this on others kills me further.

my hands are shaking and the headaches don't stop now. i know where this is going. couldn't make it to work, though i thought i might be able to thrust myself through the door with sheer velocity. my inner inertia is gone.

is it shaking or trembling? i can't tell. but it's inside too. the shaking that begins with the organs and works it's way to the surface. like watching a dog shake water from it's fur, starting with the head and traveling down till it's just the tip of the tail twitching.

and tears, just under the lids, ready to expose me at any moment. clouding vision and thought the same.

i just want to be, one way or the other. this 'life' is too much to bear. why do i need to writhe in limbo when others can live or die?