word

"You've been in a bit of a rut...with not working and putting your life on hold. I think anything outside of your comfort zone is good for you right now...", M said as we walked to lunch the other day. 

I hadn't recognized it as a rut until he said the words, but instantly I knew he was right. The general funk and stagnation that has been a constant since we moved west June 2010, is an insidious beast. Trickling in, like the vapors that you'd find in an animated film or cartoon, a lurid dance that beckons wickedly because there's no names, it just is.

I've created as much control, (and safety), as possible over the past months. There's routine and monotony that I rely upon, even with my wanderlust to explore Los Angeles. It's a constant desire to run the beaten tracks because then I'm never venturing far: controlled control.  

A numb shadow hovers around me and while I find joy in life, (truly), there's sharp and prickly bits that just won't abate. An inability to endure any bullshit or phony la la la, yet it's my own myopic barometer that has me deciding what is bullshit and what isn't. Surely one-sided, always full of snark. 

Next week I'm looking forward to stepping outside of my world and into nature; a respite from all of this routine along the coast with gentle friends.

there'd be days like this mama said

It's been one of those weeks where everything is questioned and all I want is someone else to make the decisions. Unfortunately, (or not), the hardest questions we're presented are often the ones that will have the most lasting affect and are the questions I'd most like to run away from.

In fact, this week has been all about me wishing I could stick my head in the sand and hide. I've hung close to home and I've done very little; it's clearly what I need, but so not what I want. I've felt like I've been caught in a gossamer web so fine that the strands that have me embedded are transparent, until they aren't. The harder I try to extricate myself, the more emeshed I become.

Clearly the message here is to stop trying to control and just let go. And to trust that I really do know exactly what I need.

reading between the lines

I realized the other day when I was talking to a friend, that I have a new operating system that I'm learning to navigate. 

It feels like I've changed in every way imaginable and with that I'm starting over again in the familiar. I recognize glimpses of myself, the self I've known for this many years, but now I'm different and it's new and I forget that everything has changed. 

I think it's hard to be my friend these days because lately, I'm not sure I know myself very well. And what's left to give when all that I have goes into making routines and normalcy for our kid, trying to be a present partner, all while trying to heal myself on the side. 

My eyes twitch incessantly; a combination of stress and strain in a staccato rhythmic beat against my cheeks. Panic attacks are frequent and triggered most often by a lack of food, water or some combination of both.

I'm lonely and I crave every second that I spend in solitude, drunk on the quiet solace of my thoughts. Tortured still, by these same thoughts that I think I crave. 

I make plans for the future and dark thoughts twist my perception so that only doom and gloom can be the outcome. I haven't been able to pull my own head out very easily; thoughts become things and I try not to dwell on anything for too much time for fear that it all comes true. 

Like hallucinogenics gone bad, I wonder when this (head) trip will end.

inside out

Olympus OM-1/Fuji Superia 400 film.

If you could see inside, these are the colors you'd find. 

Subdued and muted, faded almost.

Despite my ever present presence online socially, (the way I distract myself these days), I'm floundering. Sad doesn't quite describe how I am, but it's the easiest adjective to grab onto, especially when there are no words that seem right.

Even in this hover state, I reach for my camera(s) almost daily, the only way that I can see to save myself, my life preserver. 

if you build it

Olympus OM-1, Vivitar 28mm lens/Fuji Superia 400 film.

I love to walk the streets of my little beach town, looking for the older homes; the little beach cottages from another era, still intact. Smaller, less flashy than the cluster (fuck) of town houses that have invaded, tiny yards full of sunflowers tucked up against weathered wood.                                                                                  

"Some day, soon, this shall be ours..." I say out loud to no one in particular. The beauty of renting means no strings attached; this town house our landing pad when we moved across the country, but not really our style in its homogenized verticality.                                                                                                                             

It occured to me this morning that what I want for us in the way of a home here in Los Angeles needs the same attention, (and a vision board), that I give to any other creative project. I have it all up in my head, but manifesting dreams is about releasing, not hoarding, in all areas of my life. 

a reminder

Being shy is something I've grown comfortable with, after years of self-abuse in the form of putting myself into uncomfortable situations and circumstances because I should. On that list of occasions, I've skulked along walls at parties and I've been so awkward in public speaking situations that I've made the audience uncomfortable. If not for my friend who rescued me by initiating a Q and A session, I'd have probably pissed myself. 

My shy doesn't always come across as such. In fact, shy is usually the last adjective used to describe me, (I've been told). I've also been told that I can I come across as aloof, haughty even. Once you know me I won't shut up, but it's the initial meeting that often becomes botched. I'm horrible at small talk. If I can't think of anything to say, I won't. And then it becomes all uncomfortable and I blurt out stupid shit, things that I could pinch the underside of my arm for saying, conversation killers to be certain.

Some people are going to get me and some won't, that's life. I can choose to stop dwelling on the botched phone calls and meet-ups or I can continue to torture myself with the 'why doesn't she like me?' until the cows come home. (and since there are no cows in my little beach town, that will be a long time coming.)

A wise friend once explained as she held up her left hand, "this is how many close friends you need in life...your other hand is for everyone else."

At this point, I am who I am and remembering that, is going to carry me a lot further in this life than the woulda, shoulda, coulda game. 

around the sun

I felt pissy when I said I had the pre-birthday blues, (my birthday is tomorrow, the 15th), that this year, my sister wouldn't sing to me, (with the kids), as they drove to school. Both M and A reminded me that they got their birthday song, the simple fact that my birthday is later in the year means I missed out. 

That's how it feels, like I'm missing out. Missing out on all the things I took for granted, because I really thought, (up until this past December when the cancer came back with a vengance), that we'd have each other as we got old. 

So this birthday doesn't feel very celebratory, even though I'm trying to muster the 'hurray', when really I feel grateful to be able to celebrate my birthday, guilty because she can't and won't, and sad because the whole damn thing just is. 

It didn't occur to me that after my sister's second and last scattering that I'd feel so bad. I knew there'd be closure, but I didn't realize that closure also meant a fresh round of pain. I cried my eyes out on Sunday and Monday; the finality of leaving Vancouver this time smacked me down and it shattered me to realize this was really it. 

Today, for the first time in months, I feel acceptance. I've begun to acknowledge and process all that went down and I'm allowing myself to feel it all instead of stuffing it away for later. I know that I need to start taking care of myself for reals; that this hiatus I've lived under since her cancer returned is over and it's time to start mending. 

Fall and Winter are good for self-care and I need it. My tendencies are to hunker down with hot tea and a good book and I'm working on squelching these desires. I'm putting forth the effort by taking myself to the gym twice a week to lift weights, even though I have to talk myself into it every time. And I mean, every time.

I'm locking down a better attitude about a gluten and dairy-free life. I'm reading every label and making sure that everything that goes into my mouth is one hundred percent, gluten and dairy-free. Too many times over the past six months and especially the past few weeks, I've taken an 'I don't care, I feel like shit anyway' attitude and I've paid for it/am still paying for it.

The rest of the time, (meaning the two days that I'm not going to the gym), I want to be outside moving my body, taking advantage of the incredible weather we have here in Los Angeles, that makes exercising outside during the cooler months ideal. I want to master how to hoop dance, before Burning Man next year and I'd like to start hiking in the different canyons we have all around us. 

I plan to make every effort to get down to the beach every day. Breathing in the briny air, my face and hair dampened by the salted mist does wonders for my psyche and soul, my space to heal and grow. 

hello, my name is

I adore this street art because it reminds me to pull my F#%K-ing head out.

To stop worrying about everyone else.

What they think, what I should do, what I perceive things to be.

We are all doing the best that we can with what we have at the time.

The end.

her memorial :: instaVAN

sixty-seven

Sixty-seven days have passed since she died. Not that I'm counting, except I am. Marking each day with a photo taken with her iPod Touch*, my own personal yahrzeit.

Leslie was a burner and she had a really tight community of friends and aquaintances that she met through Burning Man and then all the other events that happen through out the year as a way to come back to self after, and then start preparing for, the next year on the playa.

Leslie always talked about how I should go one year and then we'd laugh, because I'm so not the camper/roughing it kind of girl. I love nature, but I'm also scared, (see no. 5 of this post), and the idea of being in the desert, with no body of water and nothing around you, makes my heart race, and not in that pitter-patter good, kind of way.  

When you're sleep deprived and grieving from the bottom of your soul as I was last June, I found myself pinky swearing with Leslie's good friend, that I'd go to Burning Man next year. And then R told my sister that I was going, that I'd pinky sweared with her and Leslie smiled. 

So I'm going to Burning Man next August. Thank the heavens for my girl Sooz and her man WAX who've always had a burning desire to go to the playa and we're going together. We're renting an RV and we're driving to the desert. Gulp. 

These plans, this dreaming and scheming has been a part of the passing of these sixty-seven days. Sixty seven ways to get used to the truth that my sister is no longer here. 

* Leslie's iPod was the one thing I really wanted to keep of hers. I now have her playlists, which I won't add to on her iPod, it's all Leslie and very different from my own musical choices, which I love.