3 summers ago

I was on the plane by myself. I felt excited to be traveling by myself. Kaity gave me a ride to the airport. First she took me to the wrong one (SFO) but then we were back on track (Oakland). I was also nervous because I hid some weed in an altoids tin and brought it with me. I passed airport security. Yes! I boarded the plane and then the anticipation began. I watched all of the swarm of firefly lights of the bay area slowly turn into scattered polka dots as the land stretched out flat and wide before me, underneath me. I was above the changing states, I was in a changing state, mentally, physically, so many possibilities. I never thought I'd be in Kansas. These are the kind of surprises in life that I love. If I was told a year before I would be there I would be completely puzzled. I arrive in the smallest airport I've ever seen. Hello? Hello Wichita. I wait. You and your father arrive and my energy is still in the mountains though we are on the plains. We haven't touched yet because I put all my bags in the car right away and shuffle into the backseat. I want to wait before we hug or anything else because it's all been too much, there's too much energy contained in me and I want to save it for when all my baggage is on your floor, when I can really hold you and not abruptly stop to get the car. So your father drives, and I sit behind you. But even then we can't resist and  begin to hold hands through the crack of the door and the seat. Not just a grip, but really feeling each others hands because it's been awhile. Feeling the curves of your knuckles, the lines on our palms merging paths. our hands needed to meet again. especially since we can't face each other in this moment it's as if our hands are doing it for us. Kissing hands. All the while lightning bugs are smashing themselves against the window, exploding into the glass like oozing glowing fireworks. Lovely romantic sacrifices.

One of the more romantic moments in my life happened around this time last year. I had spent a few days in Tahoe with you. Wonderful days filled with smoke and sex and smokey sex, hikes up a rocky dry ski slope, homemade chili you cooked up for me, the first snowfall of the season. I was in a rush, like always. I was racing back to my work. I was still hosting then so I was wearing an attractive business casual outfit with terrible, paper-thin flats. I should have left earlier but I wanted to be with you longer of course. I was used to the drive up the long winding mountain roads by now so I figured I could speed up. No. The snow was beautiful yes, and I beautifully slid out of control coming around a curve. My corolla swerved dramatically into the side of the mountain. If there wasn't a snow bank there I would have been in much worse shape. I don't like to think about it. Well shit! My little rabbit heart is beating and im stuck in some snow. A long black trail bleeds behind me. My car has been wounded, badly. A lovely kind man in his pickup truck sees me tucked into this snowy mountain side and he helps direct me to a safer stop where I call you right away. My little thin as fuck flats are mushy and wet. My toes are freezing. My hands are pink and icy. You answer, I knew you would. I love you. We said this already, but goodness do I love you more now. Help! I'm stuck. I crashed my car. I know you told me to be careful, but, I'm not. You tell me you'll be there, I know you will. We hug right away. Glad you're okay. Oh man, that looks bad. You point to the boulder my car skid over, and consequently the nasty scar it created underneath it. It's the transmission you tell me, and I have no idea what you're really saying but you tell me you'll fix it. We wait for a tow truck in my car. We huddle together and I pull out my favorite poetry book. We read to each other. Poems fall from our lips and snow falls outside. I never thought I would enjoy this moment so much, but you're here, waiting with me, waiting for things to get better, to be fixed.

shmeh

I don't know what
but I know why
and the why is because
I want to love
I want to help people know how to love
so they can feel it for themselves
I don't want to take my efforts
and shove them into narrow spaces to file away
I don't want to sit down
in so many ways.
I want to move
mentally, physically
I want to be here in the present
hugging my life until it gasps
and remembers it's alive,
as a life should remember.
I want to kick down the walls of this cubicle
and see without measure.
I can't help but build fears with the years,
but my judgement has softened,
I understand so many more things.
I understand my eyes through another's.
I understand the pain I have given and received.
I understand that I may feel differently in a year.
My mood changes so much and sometimes it can affect my whole day
and that particular day could affect my whole life or someone's else's.
Sometimes I almost envy people who can only see in black and white,
because it must be easy,
it must be nice to have a mind so simple.
Love comes in many colors.
Many complexities.
It can be dark, it's true...
but richer colors arent without their hues.
I happen to like a stormy day.
I happen to find theyre more beautiful and true than a bird chirping blue.
I feel as though my thoughts collect into the clouds.
They swell and shift and almoggst burst.
They scatter and alert me of change,
a sudden realization like a drop of rain upon your face,
"Oh." you say to yourself.

Here are my honest feelings. Yes I was surprised to receive a message from you, but excited. I could pretend I wasn't but I said I would be honest. Our relationship was fresh, it felt good. then it became very muddy. Amidst the mud it still fed a craving. It was romantic and exciting. I fought for you, you fought for me, as two flames are prone to do. I think there were battles hidden inside of us and we didn't know how to share them. As easy and natural as it was to be with each other, to have fun, it was harder to communicate what was going on inside. I'm not sure either of us even knew what was going on within ourselves at the time. Even now, I'm writing this indirectly to you because when I write it directly to you I stumble around with my words even more and you misinterpret what I say. I don't know why that is. I appreciate you reaching out I guess, or actually I don't really know if I appreciate it. It affected me more than I'd like to admit when I saw you were with someone else. I thought I was completely apathetic about everything. I already found love again. But feelings are always complicated in the way that they change. These days I feel like finding the love of my life would be finding someone who would enjoy the emotional roller coaster I have to offer, and would not want to leave despite being thrown around on it. I feel flat when we exchange how are you doing messages to each other because we're so beyond that but then again what else do you say...can I say? Life is always interesting to me. So if you ask me how I am, I'll just say I'm interested in life. I start many projects without finishing them. School, work, ideas, goals...I want to be able to finish what I've started...to be the person who does that. I don't think I was that person when I knew you. So many things can change! I don't want to chase happiness, I want to cultivate it by doing (and finishing) what I want to do and living my life this way. I have created my own chaos lately, but overall, I'm very lucky to be where I am. I hope you feel that way too.

Winter

Summer is sexy, but winter is romantic.

college years

I'm shy for awhile. I hide in my room.
My friends find me & say, "Come out
& play scared little bud,
blossom in these years of youth."
& I say okay.
I try new faces,
drugs,
energy drinks,
I drink them all in.
I fall asleep on top of books
I fall asleep on top of people.
Is that slutty?
No, you're young, it's college.
Whatever. I'm a creative writer
I'm a creative excuse maker.
I'm almost always late,
unless it's my Shakespeare class
with the brilliant & terrifying teacher
reciting words said centuries ago,
Beautiful words that can die in apathy
if they aren't beating in the hearts of those sleepy students.
I'm hired but my heart is beating for something.
I'm curious. I fuck up.
I fulfill requirements.
My heart breaks
& I hurt someone else's with its edges.
I lose friends, I make friends.
I make out with friends.
I drink too much.
I say too much.
I am too much.
I feel depressed.
I medicate.
Nah, I'm fine.
I unmedicate.
I write some bad papers,
I go on some bad dates.
I fall in love with my ideas of love.
I raise my hand to be polite
&aepresent my ideas.
I get nervous when everyone turns to look at me
Unless I look pretty cute that day,
Which very much depends on if I'm wearing sweatpants
& what time I woke up.
Sometimes I don't wake up.
I enjoy a guilty day off
Because I decide my schedule and laziness.
I get jealous of responsible people.
I get thai food across the street every week.
I get lonely.
I'm intrigued
By the world I'm still a little too shy towards.
I'm becoming aware,
I'm realizing my potential,
But I fold it in half
& save it for later.

How lucky am I to have been in love so many times already? I have a long ways to go, but I'm impressed that so much has happened before my 25th year. I feel a mixing tide of feelings. I know I have so much more to do but I keep reminding myself how incredibly fortunate I am to be where I am. Alive. Feeling. I'm so restless I forget to see what it is I have or have had. I'm learning so much. So much! It's hard to process all of it. Sometimes grief revisits you in waves. I have a hard time letting go. I feel myself be so closed off sometimes yet other times I feel like my heart is so big it will crush me.

It's a Donnie Darko sort of day.

Mirus

My mom came home with you one day. "Oh god" my dad said rolling his eyes, but then started laughing. Laughing because when my mom really wants something and my dad says "no," "no" suddenly starts to sound like maybe which eventually becomes "yes." The wish list becomes the "well I already bought it so don't worry about it" list. But that's okay. My dad does this to her too, i.e. buying an ancient lamp that costed a small fortune. and how can my dad really say no when this dog is looking up at him with troubled amber eyes relieved of a prompt execution.  So I saw you timidly walking down the steps to your new life. I gave you a tour and you gave me uncertain looks.

You were a funny looking beast. Fat and white with orangey spots, eyes that were outlined black and an orange tail dipped in black at the tip. I called you cow. Nicknames come with affection. As soon as you relaxed and these strange smells became familiar and secure we learned you could be fiercely loyal to us. Your previous owners just dumped you outside of a shelter in a basket. How could you not grit your teeth at anyone who approached us, we rescued you! It wasn't just other people though, it was when my family and I hugged, patted, played, more than softly touched. You cried out as though you feared an impending crisis in every embrace. "Mirus! It's okay, dog, it's okay!" we would say to you. We would pet you. "Calm down, dog." Soothing words helped temporarily but there was no hope of introducing you to others. Everyone was threatening to you, except for us of course. I imagined you grew up in a violent home where people do not hug. A home where a raised voice always meant something frightening. "What have you seen Cow?" I would ask you, but you could not tell me.

I knew the neighbors hated you. Your bark was sharp and ever present. You wanted to fucking kill the UPS man. You were suspicious of my friends, my grandma, even tiny children. You could be coaxed with treats sometimes but you would actually growl while chewing them, which was also kind of impressive. Some outsiders earned small bouts of trust but that would be forgotten after awhile. When we took you somewhere in the car you would stick your head out of the window and growl at people outside no matter what speed your snarled lips were flapping. I knew you meant well, but people who were nearly bitten by you did not understand this. You can't tell a parent who watches their small child almost get attacked by your dog- that your dog really is a big sweetheart inside, that he means well. When there was the unfortunate opportunity for you to escape- the gate was left open, a hole was dug, a fear grew in my eyes, a fear like the one I saw in your eyes when someone new came to the door. This happened a few times, and one time a very alarmed and angry father came to the door and told my mother how close your teeth were to his son's skin. I then thought of a story my mother told me about my brother being two years old and in the face of a large menacing dog. "I would have killed that dog if I had to," she said very solemnly to me. You could have killed that boy, Cow. You could have been killed too. My mom made a difficult decision after this incident. You couldn't escape anymore. We loved you, but parents love their children too. My mother understood this protective love very clearly. "I would have killed that dog" the words echoed in my head. So one day when I was in San Jose living my college life my mother called me and told me she had decided you could not exist in this world anymore because you were dangerous. You thought everyone else was the enemy and you had become one in defense. I burst into tears. "How can you take away my dog?" I cried angrily. I knew the logic in her decision but I was angry. I was an hour away from home and you were scheduled to die in 2 hours. Interestingly those were the circumstances in which we first met you and took you into our home. You were supposed to die the day before but we saved you. We ended you. My friend drove me home, a quietly intense drive. I ran down the steps to my childhood home and threw my arms around your orange spots and sobbed into your fur. "My cow" I kept crying, and despite the circumstances, I laughed at this nickname I gave you and how happy you were to respond to it. It was time to go. You sat in my lap, much too big for it, but I wanted you there. The last time you would be there. You whined before we even went inside the clinic. You had a sense. There was a heaviness in the air. You smelled the fear. You tried to crawl up onto my mom's lap. You were seeking protection there, you knew something was not right. You knew and we knew. We falsely assured you and scratched your ears. "It's okay, dog, it's okay." Your eyes were pulling at us for help but we could not help. We watched an instrument of your end slide into your leg and your spots sank into the floor. We lay next to you for awhile, talking to you still. Time to go. It's okay dog, it's okay. Even during the car ride back, I still expected to see you waiting for us at home.

I'm an asshole.

I'm so tired all the time. I hate how much red bull I buy. My day "off" is when I only work at 1 job. I may explode. I'm already hard to talk to and spend time with. I don't know if I should keep pushing through with this. I don't want to give up but I don't want to be miserable, because I have been. Some days I feel this welling frustration and I either want to snap or cry. I don't want the brunt of this to be directed at the people I love. I wish I could do it all. I don't know if I'm made to multitask. I remember my friend reading a study about how people who were considered multi taskers were also more commonly depressed. She said she didn't understand why but I said maybe it's because they can never fully devote themselves to a single task at hand, they can't enjoy something completely because they are also focusing on something else. I'm trying to become more responsible...but I owe it to myself to have a day off, to relax...to enjoy what is going on around me completely, to be with people I love and want to be with. I don't know how much more I can take. It's my own damn fault for creating this suffocating schedule. I find solace in a 2 hour gap between jobs where I just eat and try and tune out my thoughts for a few minutes before knowing I will be working late moving around with heavy drinks and big plates of food, trying to stay quick and smiling, walking an average of 4 miles. I'll be up early in the morning trying to keep a smile and a clean organized desk (clean and organized are words that typically arent featured in descriptions of me) while patients come and go every 10 minutes and I struggle to complete all the tasks in my shift while my manager reminds me that I need to speed up. I don't want to be disappointing but I don't want to wonder about what or who I've been missing. Life goes on. I feel myself slipping away. I don't doubt I'll come back though. Something has to change. I have to change. I also have to go to sleep and wake up early. Take off my hat to put on a different one. Where's the wonder woman hat. Even wonder woman needs sleep and day off. I bet she would still get shit done though. It's kinda sad I dont want to exert much energy when there is a rare day off aka day with only 1 job. Talking aobut this makes me tired. Good night! Good morning. Ask the girl behind the front desk how she's doing then give that waitress at dinner a really nice tip for working hard.