Waking Dreams

Concept Statement for Blog Project: WAKING DREAMS

2011-12-12T15:02:00.000-08:00

When I decided to start my blog project, WAKING DREAMS, I wasn't sure what would come of it. 
I just knew I wanted to write everyday. So when I moved to Fort Worth, TX in January 2010, 
my blog, WAKING DREAMS came to be. At first I was journeling daily, my first year of my life 
outside of rural Oklahoma. During those early days in the life of WAKING DREAMS, the entries were short, informative, and littered with .jpg images
of the downtown area.

The honeymoon phase from my sudden love affair with life in a big city wore off before summer 2010 
even started. 
 
Why? 
 
To be ironically honest, I wasn't being 100% honest. Not even 80% honest. Because despite the fact 
I felt happier with my new life in TX I was still confused, still hurt, depressed most of the time... 
ANGRY.

I didn't know what true anger felt like until I realized at the end of spring 2010 that I had the life 
I always wanted, now, in the present... But what about before now??? I didn't wanna talk or dwell on any 
of the past events in my life, most notably, 2009; The final year I spent in Oklahoma. Because when Exodus 
Out of Oklahoma took place,  I made a pact with myself not to acknowledge anything negative that happened before. 
Somehow I convinced myself that as long as I didn't talk about my past, it would cease to have ever existed. 
How do you erase an entire lifetime from your memory? 

The answer is quite simple:
You don't.
 
So WAKING DREAMS became the place where I allowed myself to freely exercise my need to be honest. 
Not just tragically honest, but genuinely and brutally honest... And through  examining publicly,
the rubble of regret, grief and remose I felt, I discovered a multi-dimensional diamond in the rough.
 
Humility. 
Honesty. 
Maturity.

The mission of WAKING DREAMS was never clearly defined when it began. Two years later and the mission 
is no longer a mission. Because aside from it becoming a wealthy collection of my free thoughts and feelings, 
WAKING DREAMS, showed me the kind of life I've always wanted and the blog helped me grow into the kind of person 
I've always admired.
 
The person I was always meant to be.

 THE BIRTH OF AN IDEA...

Whenever I get an idea for a story or an art project, I force myself to jot it down immediately. After the idea leaves the sanctuary of my mind and comes face-to-face with me in  the physical world, it becomes a living thing, taking up space on the planet,  just like you and me. And once I give birth to an idea I refuse to abandon it  or give up on it. I have to foster it, scold it, guide it, help it find purpose...    

Encourage it to be the best idea it can possibly be.

Epilogue Pt. II [AT RISE:]

2011-12-05T12:10:00.000-08:00

What happened on Friday, October 28th, 2011? If I didn’t wake up does that mean I’m dead? Or am I still sleeping? Is this a nightmare? Nooooo. It couldn’t be. Why? Because this doesn’t feel scary. It’s no where near horrifying. In fact it feels…
                            Good?

AT RISE:
Friday, October 28th, 2011.
Approximately 11:00 A.M., inside of a busy-as-fuck coffee shop located in a downtown metropolis. Warm sunlight fills up the shop. A man in his early 40’s, DOUGLAS, orders a latte then exchanges small talk with the OLDER WOMAN in the shop. The BARISTA behind the bar finishes the OLDER WOMAN’s drink and starts on DOUGLAS’ order.

DOUGLAS: (To the older woman)..it’s for my big speech I’m delivering this afternoon.

BARISTA: (To the older woman) I’ve got your grande hot tea, ma’am.

OLDER WOMAN: (To DOUGLAS) Well, I hope it all goes well for you today. You’re prepared so you’ll do great.

DOUGLAS: Thank you.

OLDER WOMAN: (To DOUGLAS) You’re very welcome. (To BARISTA) Thank you!

BARISTA: You’re welcome! Have a nice day ma’am! Or weekend, I mean. Have a nice weekend!

OLDER WOMAN: That’s right! It’s Friday, T.G.I.F! (She exits the coffee shop.)

BARISTA: (To DOUGLAS) So, what is your speech about?

DOUGLAS: Teddy Roosevelt, environmentalism, wildlife refuge conservations--

BARISTA: Very cool! I know the one of the first areas he conserved, or I guess, saved would be the better word to--

DOUGLAS: Is that so?

BARISTA: Yep! The Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge near Lawton, Oklahoma.

DOUGLAS: That’s right! How did you know--

BARISTA: I’m Comanche!

DOUGLAS: Really? I’ve done quite a bit of research about the Comanche people.

BARISTA: I also used to live in Oklahoma, near the Wichita Mountains. My mom’s front yard has an amazing panoramic view of Mt. Scott. That was kind of the selling point on the house, for my mom. She says the Wichita mountains are important to our people.

DOUGLAS: So I don’t get to tell you all about Quanah Parker?

BARISTA: Quanah is my fourth generation grandfather. Me; My family; Well my maternal side anyway, we’re direct descendents of Quanah Parker and Esa Rosa-Whitewolf.

DOUGLAS: That’s really amazing! Quanah was a childhood hero of mine.

BARISTA: Get out of here…

DOUGLAS: Yes! I’m a historian for CBS and I also teach history.

BARISTA: Where do you teach at?

DOUGLAS: Rice University. (He extends his arm across the bar.) My name is Douglas.

BARISTA: It’s nice to meet you, sir! My name is… (Points at her name tag)

DOUGLAS: Liz!

BARISTA: Correcto! So, what brings you to Fort Worth, Mr. Douglas?

DOUGLAS: My speech--

BARISTA: Duh! Of course, I don’t know why I--

DOUGLAS: How much do you know about your grandfather?

BARISTA: Well, let’s see….See that historical marker over there, across the street?

DOUGLAS: (Turns around to look and nods his head in agreement.)

BARISTA: Quanah and his family spent a lot of time here in Fort Worth, all over Texas, really. That is, until the Texas Rangers came along. It’s always perplexed me, the United States government creating an entire department of law enforcement for the sole purpose of patrolling Comanche people. Of course the BIA is the same concept… But yes, that marker across the street was made to honor Cynthia Ann Parker, Quanah’s mother.

DOUGLAS: Yes! She was a white--

BARISTA: A white captive? Yep! Which made Quanah, half-white. I got a lot of shit for that growing up. Mainly from my dad’s side of the family. You know, it’s kind of ironic I ended up here. I had no idea there was a historical marker across the street, let alone a historical marker to honor a member of my family. I didn’t even know about it until about a year ago. I came to work early on a Saturday morning so I could explore downtown. I hadn’t been in Fort Worth that long. Since it was a Saturday morning there weren’t a lot of cars parked on the street. I noticed the marker, standing alone and I don’t know, it’s placement seemed, out of place, to me, if that makes sense. When I read the plaque I couldn’t believe it. Of course I called my mom to tell her. She thinks it was fate that brought me here, to this specific spot, like it was my destiny. (Laughs)

DOUGLAS: Do you know about Quanah’s role in the Native American church?

BARISTA: Oh yeah. My grandpa, my dad’s dad, well, step-dad actually, was super involved with the Native American church. During the fall and winter time my grandparents hosted peyote meetings every other weekend it seemed. Peyote meetings are like church, except they start on Saturday night. Of course don’t say that to your standard American Christian. They’ll choke on their communion wafers or cut up white bread and Welch’s grape juice. Depends on the region. How do you know so much about peyote?

DOUGLAS: My good friend Hunter Thompson. He was a writer.

BARISTA: You mean Hunter S. Thompson?

DOUGLAS: Yes.

BARISTA: Shut up. How did you--

DOUGLAS: I edited some of his work. After he passed, I became the executor for his literary estate.

BARISTA: This is wild! I can’t believe-- I mean.

DOUGLAS: You’re telling me! I can’t believe I met you, Liz! One of Quanah Parker’s grand daughters!

BARISTA: No! I can’t believe I met you, Mr. Douglas! You edited for Hunter Thompson, a writer I’ve admired since I was like, seventeen! And you’re a professional editor! I’m a writer-- Aspiring writer, and I’m finally at the tail end of finishing my first book. It’s a novella--

DOUGLAS: That’s fantastic! I’m working on a book right now too. My book is about Woody Guthrie. Do you know who Woody Guthrie--

BARISTA: Of course! He’s an huge icon in dustbowl and Oklahoma history.

DOUGLAS: Yes, you know! So tell me Liz, what is your book about?

BARISTA: A lot. (Laughs) Death, Life, Starting over.. It’s kind of a fictional memoir.

DOUGLAS: Sounds interesting! I’ll be spending quite a bit of time going back and forth between my home in Austin and in Oklahoma while I finish my book. I’d love to take a look at your manuscript when you get it finished. Here…(He reaches into his blazer, searching for something to write with.) Let me give you my cell number.

BARISTA: (Quickly swipes a black Sharpie marker from BARISTA 2 and hands it to DOUGLAS.)

DOUGLAS: (Removes the cardboard sleeve from his beverage and writes down his name and number and hands it to BARISTA.) That’s my personal cell phone. I can always be reached at that number. I also text.

BARISTA: Oh man, I’m a texting champ.

DOUGLAS: Is that so?

BARISTA: You have no idea. (She laughs and takes the information and Sharpie marker from DOUGLAS, then she grabs another cardboard sleeve from the bar and jots down her information. She hands it to DOUGLAS.) That’s my cell phone and email too.

DOUGLAS: It was really great meeting you today and talking with you, Liz.

BARISTA: You too Mr. Douglas. Seriously, you made my day, my week-- My year.

DOUGLAS: Don’t hesitate to call if you’re down in the Austin area, too!

BARISTA: Will do! And give me a call if you’re in Fort Worth or Oklahoma, I’ll be at one or the other I’m sure.

DOUGLAS: Okay! Have a great day, Liz.

BARISTA: You too Mr. Douglas! Have a super awesome day! Hope the speech goes well!

DOUGLAS: (Exiting the coffee shop) Thanks!

BARISTA 2: What was that all about?

BARISTA: The man? He’s a writer and editor, a professional writer and editor. He gave me his cell number and if I understood him right… He wants to be friends and he wants to read my manuscript.

BARISTA 2: That’s awesome! Yay for you!

BARISTA: Thanks. WOW-- Just wow. (She pulls out her iPhone from her back pocket.) It's time.

The BARISTA takes off her apron and exits from behind the bar.
BARISTA 2 waves goodbye, then seamlessly switches attention to steaming milk. As the BARISTA exits the coffee shop the steaming sound grows louder and the sunlight shines brighter, until nothing in the scene can be seen or heard clearly.

[END SCENE]

Q. If it’s not a nightmare…?

    Honest-to-goodness
    Though unreal it seemed
    I never knew I had a place
    Somewhere
    I was meant to be.

    All the people, places, and things
    each miracle and disaster that occurred
    man-made or naturally…
    .
    All of that is hiSTORY.

    It's not a nightmare
    It’s the true story of

A. Dream.

Epilogue Pt. I

2011-10-29T15:50:00.000-07:00

* Let it be known for the record, the date today is Saturday, October 29th, 2011.

Just before I fell asleep [for a second time] around midnight, on Friday, October 28th, 2011, I closed my eyes and wandered around in a happy, anxious state of mind. Why, you may ask, was I happy/anxious? Honestly? I was looking forward to work in a few hours because it was payday, and I’d convinced myself that receiving a paycheck would somehow, someway, make the day at work worthwhile. It was under that impression, under that notion, that my brain allowed itself to relax and I stayed asleep until….

I was able to stay there until…

I opened my eyes six hours later at precisely 6 o’clock in the morning. Sometimes I can do that via my internal clock but not Friday morning. NOOOO, I owe kudos for Friday’s wake-up call to two of the most annoying alarms, capable of being programmed on my iPhone to go off just seconds apart from one another. The alarm tones absolutely, positively DID NOT harmonize, but instead, the noise they simultaneously made sounded like two roosters getting choked to death at the hands of a dead-tired, unforgiving man. My hand closest to the edge of the bed felt around the night stand until my fingers located my phone. I touched the phone screen and in an instant, bird sodomy, or at least the sound of it being committed in my house, became non-existent.

6:30am came fast, I thought to myself while I brushed my teeth, sans pre-brush whitening mouthwash. No time for vanity, I was in a hurry, and I fished inside the dryer for all of the pieces of my work uniform.

Black pants…Check. Black polo…Check. Black socks….Black socks….

ONE black sock…The other black sock! Black underwear…No….Hmmm…

Hot pink underwear? They’ll do!

I threw on my work uniform, grabbed my purse and black hoodie, then I headed outside. It was cold and dark, and I sat in the car for a minute while I stared into the rearview mirror. It was kinda creepy outside, quiet, and I wondered if I was truly as alone as I believed myself to be.

I was.

With a struggled key turn, the car’s engine turned on and I rolled down all the windows and opened the sunroof so I could…

I could.
I did.

I completely disregarded the ban on smoking in the car because I rolled down any and all windows. [This is how I bend the rules for me. I can’t guarantee that my equation for zeroing out a “No you may not/Yes I may”, situation will work for anyone else, so if you wanna try it, try it at your own risk.]

I lit a cigarette, (which I found hiding out in my purse), and I inhaled all of the relief it had to offer. Fast forward through the drive to work, past the fancy white lights that illuminate the skyscrapers at dawn, make an effort NOT to run over the obviously organic, fat-free, gluten-free, lactose intolerant, wannabe yuppie runner who runs in place at all of the red lights (and try not to waste too much time wondering why on earth He thinks running in a business district at 7:00am is, “chic”, because it’s not, really), skip over the boring, dirty parking garage that‘s never full, (at least it’s never full in the mornings.)

Ten minutes late.

That’s right, not ten minutes later, ten minutes LATE. Sometimes fifteen, fifteen minutes LATE and I walk into a busy-as-fuck coffee shop located inside of a full-service, hoity-toity metropolitan hotel in downtown DFW. Some people call it their favorite break spot, their life-saver, their sanctuary, a secret meeting spot...

As for me, it’s fun sometimes. It’s been my home-away-from-home a few weeks out of the year. But most of the time I refer to that place, that coffee shop, as work. That’s the place where I work, is what I say to people when they ask me about it.

So there it is, that’s how I began my Friday. But allow me to be honest for a moment; That’s how every single one of my work days start, (give or take a few hours if I’m opening or coming in for a mid-shift).

The End.

[BLACKOUT]

Nope, not on that day. Not on Friday, October 28th, 2011. I didn’t know it until now but that day proved to be one for my personal history books. It was a day I’m certain I won’t forget anytime soon. Fortunate for me, the climax didn’t occur at 7:00am. Because if it happened then I would’ve missed it all together.

There’s a part of me that has to wonder whether or not it’s even possible, if we’re actually capable of “missing out”, on anything? If not, then is it possible that we make OUR OWN destinies by the choices we make for OURselves, (i.e., showing up to work at least ten minutes late).

Being on time or being late on Friday morning would not have affected my outcome, I don’t believe.

So do we guide our fates or are we guided by our destines? Both? Neither? Perhaps it’s all just perception, a heavy helping of living proof and…

Faith.
Or Want.
A Need.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

A Dream [NIGHTMARE]

2011-09-21T21:50:00.000-07:00

Prelude [PURGATORY]

2011-09-14T19:46:00.000-07:00

I find myself shaking my head at nearly everything since I came back to Texas, post summer excursion in Oklahoma. The fact of the matter is, the summer I spent in Oklahoma didn't go quite as I planned for it to go. That's no one's fault but my own, by the way.

But it wasn't an entirely wasted summer. I got through the first round of editing for ACTs I and II of my script. More than that, I met a plethora of interesting new people, as well as made some acquaintances new bad-ass friends. So before I go into anything remotely negative, (that is, if I still find the need to discuss what didn't go my way after I write this), I'm going to roll out some much deserved shout-outs, mentions, and memories I'll never forget.

To the workshop cast/crew of "THE LOST YEAR" from "A MEMOIR in MOTION":

Ms. Jenn, Albert, Alex, Byron, Dawnyo, Bryan, and Jana...You guys have no idea how much it meant to me that you donated your priceless time helping me edit and promote my script/art project. I wish we had more time together to get through ACT III. Each and everyone of your inputs, words of encouragement and your sole presence will be something I carry with me every step of the way as I continue on my journey along the road this project has lead me upon. I love you guys. And not just in the blase way people say, "Love ya". I truly mean it. I love each of you.

Dearest ChrisROthePROPHET...I wish I could've met you and made you my bff earlier in life. But the fact that I got to share prophecies with you just before you embarked on your own journey means the world to me. Everytime I tell people about the conversation we had that night with Dawnyo, I always compare it to the play Copenhagen. I'll explain that comparison the next time I see your wonderful face in person. Praise JAH! <3

Dear Patrick and Joey, Thanks for being my road dawgs til the end of time. Enough said. <3

Dear Chloe and Kimmy, It was a surprise to see you guys this summer. Thanks for coming to Oklahoma and reminding me that HOME is not just a physical state, but it's also a state of mind.

Dear Ryan, Thanks for NOT pressing charges against me when I threw that boulder at your car windshield. Me NOT going to jail that night was a good thing, I assure you.

To my one and only mentor, Dr. Fennema: I get what you were saying about going the novella route first. I did, in fact, get in a little over my head this summer. Thanks for always being honest and always believing in me and my art. I promise I'm going to make you proud of me soon. <3

It's funny to think I was searching for something this summer and thought I didn't find it. The more I think about it now, what I was looking for was all around me the entire time.

Someone obviously didn't get the memo.

2011-07-15T17:04:00.000-07:00

DOCTOR: …I VANT to THUCK ya BLOOD! You know who that is! I VANT to THUCK ya BLOOD-- You do not know who that is?

LIZ: Um…I don’t know?

DOCTOR: Dracula. The one who needs blood.

LIZ: OH! Now I get it!

DOCTOR: I VANT to THUCK ya BLOOD!

LIZ: I get it.

DOCTOR: It is important we do your blood work. It will take five minutes and then after the screenings we will know. With the possibility-- Cancer-- It is better to find out now…to be sure…
now, not later. To treat as soon as possible.

LIZ: So you’re serious?

DOCTOR: Let me put it to you like this. If you do not do the blood work, the cancer screening, I will not see you. I will… take your chart to one of the other doctors in the hospital and they will decide what to do, not me.

LIZ: Okay, okay.

DOCTOR: Do not forget! I NEED BLOOD!

LIZ: I won’t.

                        Q. What would you do if your doctor told you he thought you might have cancer?

                             A. I don’t know what you would do but I know what I would do.

I took careless mega strides and mobbed out of the hospital. I'm sure I looked like a pissed-off, overgrown, super-villain as I pushed past everyone and everything in my path. Anger flooded my thought process and drowned out anything else in my mind to the point that I completely forgot to do my blood work before I fled the scene. The sea of cars in the parking lot added to my overwhelmed emotions and I couldn’t remember where I parked. After storming around the parking lot I finally found the right car. Even if I never found it, it wouldn’t have mattered because I was reeling in fury and could’ve managed to walk home solely on the energy volts that electrocuted throughout my body, no problem.

I unlocked the car door and swung it open the way misunderstood teenagers fling objects around when they‘re frustrated at their parents, frustrated with the world. Then I plopped down into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut so I could sulk in privacy.

My eyes glared at the mediocre sized building in front of me. The evil eye I shot at the hospital was childish but it was the only way I felt vindicated from the news I just received. Though it wasn’t the hospital’s fault, it didn’t matter to me. All I knew was that someone or something had to know how I felt about the matter.

Usually I have an arsenal of words to describe people, places, and things in life, in my life especially. For that particular visit to the hospital, however, I had but only one word to define the experience.

This is some bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit.

I needed some relief, anything, so I grabbed my purse off the floorboard of the car and rummaged through it until I found a pack of Marlboro Smooths. Before I lit the cancer stick I ran it underneath my nose, closed my eyes and inhaled the freshness of its menthol vapors. The first drag I took tasted like heaven and the nicotine released most of my mind and body’s tension.

With my memory relaxed and loosened my brain was free to wander and I recalled an event I’d nearly forgotten from my early teen years.

I was 14 years old and living in Oklahoma with my parents. I had my own bedroom and when it stormed I’d open my bedroom windows to let in the fragrance of the rain. Back then I was going through my romance era, a romantic phase. Romance with no one exclusively except for myself. My room screamed solitude and was littered with numerous candles, antique Victorian décor and ceramic angel/cherub figurines.

One grey sky afternoon I sat on the carpeted floor of my bedroom and stared into an old metal frame mirror. Looking at my reflection forced introspection and I suddenly decided what I wanted to do with my life.

I want to be famous.

Upon that realization I ran out of my bedroom and into the bathroom where I found something sharp; a safety pin; and returned to my room quickly. I placed the pin on my ivory white bed stand and pulled out a pen and notebook from underneath my bed. Then I ripped a sheet of paper out from the notebook and placed the paper on the night stand.

What happened next is almost too embarrassing to admit.

I proceeded to write a contract out with the devil. The outline was simple. The devil would agree to help me become famous in my lifetime and in exchange for the devil’s aid, I would surrender my soul to him upon my death. Why would I need it after I died anyway? I thought. To make the deal official, I pricked my finger and signed the contract in blood. Once the blood dried, I folded up the paper contract and placed it underneath my mattress.

It remained there for three years.

I’d forgotten about the contract until I moved out of my parents house when I turned 17 years old. At first I didn't know what I had uncovered as I pulled the mattress off of my bed and I almost tossed the contract in the trash. Once I recognized what I was holding, I unfolded it and read my sacrilegious vow again. My signed-in-blood signature was still clearly legible so I figured it was still legal and binding and I wondered when the Devil was going to pay up on his end of the bargain.

Since that day when I was 14 years old and decided what I wanted to do with my life, I never wasted a single moment thinking about the latter part of the contract; the day I’d have to pay up on my end. I never thought about it it, that is, until the day my doctor asked me for a sample of my blood to examine, because he thought I might have cancer.

But that can’t be right because I’m not famous yet. The contract clearly states that I have to be famous in my lifetime, not posthumously, after my death. So if I die before I’m famous, that whole giving-my-soul-to-Satan thing is null and void.

The answer to my possible diagnosis became clear. It was wrong, and someone obviously didn’t get the memo about the contract.

Into the sea of WHY

2011-05-05T00:24:00.000-07:00

And as she herself split into two
Rotating in agony between two ultimate forces
The pendulum of choice began its dance
It seems easy, you imagine, to gravitate
instantly and unwaveringly towards good
But she wondered...
How can I protect something so perfect
Without evil?

THE PROLOGUE

Early Sunday morning...

PATRICK: Did you hear the news?!
LIZ: No. What's up?
PATRICK: Osama Bin Laden is dead!
LIZ: Shut the fuck up! Really?
PATRICK: Ya, it's been all over the news! Where have you been?
LIZ: I'm not really sure.

I was sure of only one thing last Sunday morning; I was the last person in the United States to hear about the death of the world's most feared terrorist. So why was I the last to know? To discover why, we have to dive deep into the depths of time, roughly four weeks ago, and begin our search there.

SEA LEVEL I

My mother came to visit the week of April 11th, 2011. It wasn't just to visit. This was also the weekend of the Ft. Worth Main St. Arts Festival and because my hours at work were extended, she came to help me care for Adam. On the second day of the festival I was running fifteen minutes late to work and missed the bus, so my mother drove me to work in my brother's car. On her way back to the house the car overheated. Thankfully my mother made it back to our house safely but the car wasn't doing so well. My brother took a look at it and drove it around the block to see if it would be an easy fix. Since the car still wasn't running right, he parked it in our driveway and said it would stay there until he had the time and money to have it looked at by a mechanic.

No big deal, Ryan's car is still running.
My brother and I can take the bus to work until we get the car fixed.
Not a problem.

So we moved forward from the incident and the festival rolled on. Once the hoopla came to its end and my hours at work went back to normal my mother returned to Oklahoma.

Of course that isn't the end of this journey into the sea of WHY.|

SEA LEVEL II

I definitely missed my mother's presence in our home, but it was nice to have Adam all to myself again, especially since I had a three day mini-break from work after the festival. The situation with the out-of-commission car still sat in our driveway, but it didn't seem so bleak. I was almost done with my time at Starbucks anyway and my brother wouldn't be without a car too long because I planned to help him with the repairs the first week of May.

Neither my brother nor I planned for the next financial woe, our huge cell phone bill, which came in the mail the last week of April. I take the blame for the enormous bill because I went over on the data usage in March while I was in Oklahoma for a week, finishing the final draft of my first full length play/book, THE LOST YEAR. So our phones were disconnected. It was inconvenient but my brother and I were getting paid soon, so we decided to cut our losses for the time being [pun intended], and we put the bill off until our next payday.

Easter Sunday was my final day as a barista though it was scheduled to be Tuesday, April 26th, 2011. This happened because after Easter, I spent the following Monday night and Tuesday morning curled up in pain on a tiny chair in the waiting area of the emergency room at JPS Medical Center. The pain was so severe that even as I overheard a news update about Michael Vick speaking out against a new dog fighting game, I couldn't bring myself to grin over the irony.

After it was all said and done the doctor told me I had a bacterial infection from food poisoning. It was embarrassing to call-in on my last day of work, or rather to have Ryan call-in for me.

It was the least he could do.
Considering it was my brother--
NOT Ryan--
Who stayed with me at the emergency room.

It didn't end there either. So we dive deeper.

SEA LEVEL III

The days that followed after my stint in the emergency room I spent in isolation at home. Without a car or a phone, I stayed in bed until Adam came home from school. Then I moved my station upstairs and we watched TV together on the couch until Ryan came home. Ryan and Adam ate and I watched since I still had no appetite. Then we went to bed.

Lather, rinse, repeat.
Lather, rinse, repeat.

On Thursday I decided I was tired of being cut off from the rest of society so I got online and decided to catch up with people via email, chat, etc... Two weeks had passed since I checked in with anyone and I couldn’t tell you that I honestly noticed until I was forced to stay home because I’d been so busy until then.

My stress level was amplified by 100% when I was forewarned that Ryan’s mother, who was flying in from Oregon that day, had some ill feelings toward Adam. When I heard this I wasn’t surprised because last winter I learned she wasn’t too keen on rowdy children. But whatever, it’s her loss if she doesn’t want to get to know Adam. Whatever didn’t last ten seconds before my blood pressure shot through the roof and all I could think was, “Who the fuck does this bitch think she is?! Who the fuck says they don’t like a six year old little boy?! Especially one they’ve only met twice?!”

I was livid and everything in my sight from that point was splashed with fresh blood red tint. Thoughts circled around in my mind about how I could maneuver meeting her at the airport and claw her eyes out. I don’t care how crass that sounds, that’s my motherly instinct: To protect my cub by any means I see necessary.

TO: All inhabitants of the universe
FROM: Liz, (Adam’s Mother)
SUBJECT: First and last warning.

MEMO

NO ONE and I mean NO ONE is allowed to speak ill of my child or cause harm to him in ANY way. Especially in my presence or not in my presence. Especially if I know you or DON’T know you. I would do ANYTHING to defend my child. ANYTHING. I don’t care who or what it is that disrespected or approached him in any negative manner. My only care is to destroy it IMMEDIATELY.

There’s the official memo in case anyone needs to see it.

Ryan’s mom arrived and he confronted her alone about the issue. She claimed that what she said was misinterpreted. At first I didn’t believe her at all because I know that even if it wasn’t exactly how she felt, there’s always a little truth in every bit of hearsay. After a few days my anger at Ryan's mother began to fade, but only slightly. My defenses were and are still up.

The last Friday in April came and along with it, my paycheck. I tried to pay the cell phone bill online that day and my bank wouldn’t process the payment. I tried over and over--Nothing. Without a phone I couldn’t call customer service to ask them WTF was going on. Then on Saturday I tried again and had the same issues. So I used Ryan’s phone to call and attempt to pay ATT but the payment again wouldn’t process. I checked my bank balance to make sure I had the money and it was all there. I didn’t understand.

Ryan went to visit his mother this weekend and I stayed at home in isolation from the world outside.

I say isolation but I wasn’t entirely alone. Confusion, anger, paranoia, hopelessness, and finally apathy all crashed into my world Friday thru Sunday. These feelings that I used to run around with all the time hadn’t squatted within my psyche or soul in years. By the time I realized they returned for an extended stay they were already in my house; shoes off, kicked back on the couch, feet up, as if existing within me was their second home.

So what did I do?

I went upstairs and opened a bottle of wine and offered them all drinks of course.That's what any great hostess would do.

Once I felt less apprehensive, [thanks to the wine], me and my former negative feelings hung out on the balcony and smoked cigarettes, catching up with each other. Suddenly in the middle of our reunion I remembered an email I received earlier in the week from FUSION Theatre. The theatre informed me that their ten minute play contest submission deadline had been extended till Sunday at 11:59pm. So all together me and my insanities sat down and wrote a ten minute script this weekend, MICAH + SHELLY, and I emailed the final draft to FUSION at 11:47pm on Sunday night.

When my brother came home from work that night I was sitting in front of my laptop scanning my new script. That’s when he informed me of the death of Osama Bin Laden and I was unaffected. Even if I wanted to be affected by the news there wasn’t any room left inside of me to feel anything else. So I shrugged my shoulders about the event and continued to analyze my script.

Monday came and FINALLY, I spoke to a person and not an automated service from ATT. The customer service representative said our account balance was overdue and we had to go into an ATT store to pay the bill in cash. So on Tuesday morning that’s exactly what my brother and I did.

And we took the bus to get there and back.

After I vented my inner strife through words and produced a script, and the phone issue was resolved I still didn’t feel...normal. Then I remembered I was supposed to be moving to Oklahoma in a few days. I felt overwhelmed and wondered what the hell was wrong with me.

How could I forget?!

THE EPILOGUE

So much shit happened in the course of nearly a month that I forgot about the summer. I’m back on my path now and it only seems fitting that I’d be finishing the last of my to-do list in the few days prior to leaving. That’s a signature Liz move; to binge tasks at the speed of light. Why would this move be any different?

Looking back on it today, the past month and stress it brought along felt like THE LOST YEAR, but it wasn’t. Even in that realization it was frightening, experiencing emotional flashbacks of terror, emptiness, the urgent need to protect my son and myself, mistrusting the world and even myself. I began to feel like things were crumbling around me again—But that wasn’t the case. Granted, some of the stress from this month is still hanging in the air; It's not as apocalyptic as it seemed.

So why was I the last to learn about the most important news in recent U.S. history?

There are numerous reasons why.
In the end, I guess the terrorist was the last thing in my world to fear.

Don’t hide yourself in regret

Just love yourself and you’re set

I'm on the right track

I was born to be brave
I was born to survive

I’m beautiful in my way

Because GOD makes NO mistakes.

I was born this way.

--Born This Way/LADY GAGA

That's the beauty in, "what it is".

2011-04-12T23:48:00.000-07:00

RUSS: They're like a gang of pirates on the west side.
LIZ: That's what you really want me to write for the press release?
You want me to refer to Eighth Circuit's following as, 'a gang of pirates'?
RUSS: It's the truth! It is what it is, girl.
LIZ: That's gonna be your quote of the year.
RUSS: What's that? 'Gang of pirates'?
LIZ: 'On the west side'.
RUSS: Exactly. Like I said; It is what it is.

I had the pleasure of catching up with Mr. Russ, [guitarist for Fort Worth, TX based band Eighth Circuit], this afternoon at Mi Cocina. The sun wasn't quite at it's highest peak in the sky so we were able to catch up without being forced to squint at each other during our afternoon on-the-patio rendezvous. Russ and I talked and listened equally throughout our visit and as usual, I watched him devour the food on his plate while I tinkered around with my entree.

It doesn't matter who it is, I hesitate to allow another human being witness me tearing a meal up as if it were my last. This exclusion includes myself, too.

After our picturesque lunch date and exchange of life updates, Russ walked me back to work, and we hugged it out before I walked back into the employee entrance of the building where I work. Most of the time Russ and I spend together is rushed and brief, but I'm always left with a sense of calm after talking to him. Though today our visit was a partial goodbye-for-now, the feeling I had after we parted ways still made me smile for the rest of the day.

I have to admit I've grown attached to his positive presence in my life and I wasn't ready to tell him goodbye-for-now. But his parting words of encouragement regarding my summer plans gave me a boost of reassurance and confidence in my recent decision, so saying goodbye wasn't too tragic. What decision am I speaking about, exactly?

I decided to go back to Oklahoma for the summer to workshop the book/script project I've been working on the past year.

I came to the decision about a month ago, gave my notice to the HR department at my workplace, then solidified my choice yesterday when I gave my boss my two weeks notice. Much to my surprise my employer is supportive of this decision and allowed me to take the option of a leave-of-absence so I can come back to work with them when I move back to Texas in August.

With so much running smoothly along my newly chosen path, it's hard not to anticipate some speed bumps along the way. I can't help but feel anxious because I'm used to things falling apart. As negative as that sounds, I have to be honest with myself.

It is what it is, I suppose.

Regardless of my fear of my own failure, I'm excited about this summer. Daniel, my art twin, is coming back from his journey in San Fransisco, to work with me on the project in Oklahoma this summer. I say excited but the better phrase to use would be fucking ecstatic. I'm fucking ecstatic to see Daniel again and work with him, sharing the pursuit of making this art vision; something I've only dreamed about; into a reality.

Daniel isn't the only piece helping this puzzle see it's completion. Ms. Jana has helped me along this path for the past few months and will be traveling with us for the summer on our ARTventure. I'm truly honored and gracious that she is willing to be part of this ARTdeavor. Outside of our work, I'm also proud to say that she's one of my best friends too.

There's still a ton of planning that needs to be mapped out and I have a few more goodbye-for-now's that I need to say in the next couple of weeks before I leave Texas for the summer. I worry that I won't be able to get everything done but I have faith that the path will work itself out along the way. It always does, even when it doesn't go exactly as planned.

That's the beauty in what it is, I suppose.

I got plenty of time
You got light in your eyes
And you're standing here beside me
Out of the passing of time
Never for money, always for love<3
[HOME]
is where I want to be
But I guess I'm already there
THIS must be the place
I can't tell one from another
Did I find you or did you find me?
If someone asks
THIS is where I'll be

-- This Must be the Place/TALKING HEADS

TIME to go HOME.

2011-03-28T14:39:00.000-07:00

Why can't I go back to sleep? I'm not stressed out about anything... Maybe I'm just anxious about going to Oklahoma?

Last week, on the night before I left to visit my mother, something woke me up. Not abruptly, but not so easy, either. I sat straight up and got out of bed and headed upstairs. The time on the clock in the kitchen said 3am, exactly. Since I knew I wouldn’t be going back to sleep anytime soon, I found my iPhone and headphones to keep myself entertained and walked into the living room and got comfy on the sofa.

The house was dark because everyone else was asleep except for me.

Everyone slept. Everyone sleeps.
Everyone SLEEPS except for me...

From my spot on the sofa, I lazily turned my head and stared at the front door. Then I remembered a conversation Ryan and I had two weeks ago.

RYAN: I swear I locked the upstairs door before I left to go running and when I came back the door was all wide open and the screen door was swinging back and forth. I swear I shut the screen door too before I left because you know, there’s a special trick to get it closed. And then last week when the window in Patrick’s room somehow opened itself and it was pushed all the way up...I don’t know what the hell is going on, but it’s... I don’t know...

These claims I would've taken with a grain of salt from anyone else, but I know Ryan. He’s OCD about doors and windows being locked and he checks them at least three times before he leaves, so I knew he was telling the truth.

What on earth could be causing the sudden burst of unexplained activity in the house?

Then it dawned on me; I still have dad's stuff here.

Just as fast as I got out of bed; I rose from my horizontal position on the couch after I put it all together. Melancholy and relief rushed over me and sent a shudder that began at the back of my cerebellum and raced down my spine.

I never knew the two feelings could co-exist in one moment; Melancholy and relief. I knew it was time.

My father passed away two years ago, and though that may seem forever ago, it feels like yesterday to me. Only in the past year did I begin to deal with the grief over his loss which was the hardest loss I've ever had to cope with in my life. My dad's sudden illness and death progressed so quickly, I was not prepared for him to leave the physical earth when he died on March 14, 2009.

After his death I held onto the memory of him. This included the material things that made me feel like he was still near; The flag that covered his casket at his funeral, his military jacket, and his favorite ball caps. Even when I moved to Texas in January 2010, the items moved with me.

The move to Texas was more than just a physical relocation, it was the start of a spiritual journey; my first, true, self-chosen path. This journey led me to what I've been searching for; my purpose in life: ART; but more specifically, writing. This hasn't been a solo journey, though. I believe my father; his spirit; has been with me this whole time. Not just because I had his things, but because he wanted to stay with me and I don't know why, exactly.

Maybe it was because he didn't find his own path in life until it was too late and he wanted to make sure I found mine? Or maybe he wanted to know I forgave him and that I forgave myself; both of us, for taking life for granted, and he wanted to see me do something more than what he showed me while he was alive.

I don't know.

All I know for certain is that I'm not LOST anymore. I've found peace and happiness in my life. Now it's time for my dad to begin HIS spiritual journey...where ever that may lead.

I know it's time for you to go HOME, dad.

The next day, just before we left for the visit to Oklahoma, I packed my father's flag, his military jacket, and his ball caps in the car. I made sure they were safe and secure before I closed the door.

It was nice outside and I looked out at the trees in our neighborhood. Then I noticed someone walking in the street. It was an older man, medium build with white hair. He was wearing shorts and tennis shoes and his socks were pulled up to his knees. In each of his hands he was carrying a brown paper sack and I noticed the tops of the bags. Yep, that's two quarts of beer alright. I wonder where he's going? Would he tell me if I asked him? I wonder if he even knows?

He looked so familiar, with the exception of a missing ball cap, that I nearly ran after him to get a better look at his face but something told me to let it go.

Let HIM go.

The man turned around and spotted me along his path on the opposite side of the road. We gazed into each other's eyes and he smiled softly at me with his lips closed. I returned his soft smile and waved goodbye. Then the man turned his focus back toward the setting sun in front of him and I watched him walk into the end-of-day horizon.

He looked uncertain yet content.

On a dark desert highway
Cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas
Rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance
I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy
and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night
There she stood in the doorway
I heard the mission bell
I was thinking to myself
"This could be heaven or this could be hell."

--Hotel California/THE EAGLES

SOWING THE SEEDS of a short story.

2011-03-14T14:15:00.000-07:00

For my father, Roland Anthony Torralba, on his 2nd year Death Birthday.

SOWING THE SEEDS of a short story

When I was around six years old and my family lived in White Settlement, Texas, my father took me with him while he drove around on the outskirts of town... and he drank.

We listened to the radio on every single one of these joyrides. I wasn't aware that drinking and driving were illegal at this time, so I loved spending the time with my father and never thought anything else of it. As inappropriate as it was, we bonded deeply during these adventures because there were minimal distractions. It was simply us in a car, talking, and listening to the AM/FM radio. He sang-a-long to every random song that came on the radio and I learned the words to nearly every pop song, post 1950, from riding around in the car with my dad.

I remember one song in particular and associate it with the time the police finally caught on to my father's unlawful behavior. It was one evening after my mother came home from work and she couldn't find me or my dad. She called the police and they issued an Amber Alert searching for my father; the accused kidnapper; and me, the alleged kidnappee.

We had no idea we were being searched for. All I was aware of in that moment was the song playing on the radio and the sound of my dad’s voice, as he sang it to me...

Sea of love...sea of love...join with me...

I saw flashing lights flicker on the dashboard of the car and I turned the radio volume down. My father looked in the rear view mirror, still singing along to the song, lightly. "Don't worry dad. I've got on my seat belt." I assured from the passenger seat.

I had no idea that the seat belt was going to be the least of the officer's concerns during that stop. My dad continued to sing along to the song as he pulled off onto a grassy knoll. He turned the car off but he pulled the key back. I could faintly hear the music from the radio still playing in the background. The officer came up to the car with his gun drawn and I remember trying to figure out what the big deal was. In my head we didn't do anything wrong. We were just hanging out like we always did.

"Sir, I'm going to need you to step out of the car," the officer instructed.

It was then I realized that my dad was familiar with this procedure because he did everything per the officer's instruction, like it was second nature. I was embarrassed once I put it all together. My father knew he was in the wrong. Though I was angry at him for misleading me into what I thought was normal adult behavior, I continued to stand by him, literally. My dad had his hands leaned against the car while the officer questioned him and I did the same and leaned my hands against the car too.

"Got any guns sir?"

"Nope no guns", my father replied. Then my dad asked me, "Got any guns Beth?"

"Nope no guns", I assured him.
"Got any knives sir?" the officer inquired.

Again, my father gave his solemn word, "Nope". Then my father asked,

"You got any knives Beth?"
I assured him and the officers, "Nope. No knives, dad."

The officer handcuffed my father and read him his Miranda rights. I remember looking at my dad wondering what was going to happen next and he interrupted my fear with a question, "Are you paying attention to what they're saying, Beth?"

I stopped being fearful and started taking note of every little detail I could.
I gave my full attention to the situation at hand[cuff].

The officer told me to get in the back of his car. I looked at my father and waited for his nod of approval. Once I got it, I followed the officer to the car. From the backseat, I watched a second patrol car drive up and my father was taken away in that car. I still wasn't fearful at this point because I held onto my father's words like gospel, Are you paying attention to what they're saying? I also found solace in the song my father sang to me. I couldn't get it out of my head.

...Sea of love...sea of love...join with me....

As the officer drove me to the police department, I remained silent, (just as they told my father he had the right to do). The officer began asking me all sorts of questions, but I only answered one of them;

"Did your daddy take you with him and you didn't want to go with him?"

I glared past the cage-like covering from the backseat and into the rear view mirror. I could see the officer's eyes in that mirror, fixed on me. His face begged for me to oblige him.

“NO WAY!!!! I always want to go with my dad when he rides around! I don't ever want to stay at home!”

That wasn't what the officer wanted to hear but I didn't care because I wasn't going to lie. I knew what kidnapping was and kidnapping was not this case. The officer continued to ask me things but I didn't want to talk to him because I felt like he was attempting to lead me into a falsified story. My father was in the wrong, but not for the reasons the officers were hoping to discover.

The kidnapping charges against my father were dropped and he was formally charged with driving under the influence. He served less than a month in the Tarrant County jail and his driver's license was revoked. After that incident he never got his license reinstated in Texas, or any other state for that matter.

So that was the last joyride my father and I ever took together.

I had all but forgotten about the incident and the song until recently. I was listening to an internet radio station and I immediately recognized the melody. I haven't heard this song in ages! What's the name of this song, anyway? and I maximized the station's window so I could find out the title. Then, after all these years, shrouded in mystery, I learned the correct lyrics and the name of the unknown song from that incident with my father.

Hearing it made me feel like I was with my dad again, driving on the outskirts of Fort Worth, TX.

Feel the pain
Talk about it
If you're a worried man
then shout about it
Open hearts
feel about it
Open minds
think about it
Everyone
Read in the books in the crannies and the nooks
There are books to read!
Time to eat all your words
Swallow your pride
Open your eyes

-- Sowing the Seeds of Love/TEARS FOR FEARS

Dear Dad,
I never got to tell you this when you were here so I want to tell you now, THANK YOU FOR YOU. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be who I am, today. I love you and I miss you even more. I don't know if there is an afterlife, but I hope there is so I can connect with you again; somehow, somewhere, someday.
Love always,

Beth

I'm okay with that. pt.IIII [The one with all the Acceptance]

2011-03-06T05:52:00.000-08:00

A few days ago I had a dream.

The dream stood out in my memory long after I woke up because it was an actual dream, it wasn't a nightmare or night terror. The latter is what I usually experience and wake up from violently in the middle of the night. But not a few days ago. No, nooo, this was quite the opposite. The dream didn't wake me up in any manner of hostility. In fact, the dream I had restored my faith in myself, my relationship with my son, my family bonds, and in my ARTwork.

In the dream, I was running toward my house. It was a perfect day. The sun was out and the sky above me was clear and blue. I felt my heart speed up in a good way and my adrenaline was pumping, releasing feel good endorphins into my blood stream. Once I saw Patrick's car and Ryan's car parked out in the driveway, I sped up and darted inside the house and ran up our spiral staircase. I was slightly out of breath but I didn't feel anything except gratitude for the opportunity to be out of breath from my run.

Patrick, Adam and Ryan were standing in the living room. When I made eye contact with them they each smiled at me.

LIZ: Guess what?!
PATRICK: What's that?
RYAN: What's up?
LIZ: I can run again!

They didn't respond with anything except for nods of encouragement and smiles.

When I woke up from the dream my opened eyes met the already risen morning sun that shone through the cracks of the blinds on the windows downstairs, in our bedroom. I looked at the metal staircase and smiled as I remembered what it felt like to run up the stairs in my dream with good news. Then I rolled over in bed and saw Adam waking up. He shot me a soft smile while he rubbed his eyes. Then he crawled over Ryan and kissed me.

LIZ: I love you more than you will ever know.

Adam hugged me and fell into my arms and we cuddled. Then Ryan woke up.

LIZ: Good morning...
RYAN: Hey....
LIZ: I love you.
RYAN: I love you. (To Adam) And I love you too!

Adam took both Ryan and I into his arms and he kissed us each on the forehead. Then he jumped back to his side of our shared bed and began searching for an iDevice on the night stand.

LIZ: How do you feel this morning?
RYAN: Better. How about you?
LIZ: I feel great.
RYAN: Good.

Of course I realize every day of my life will not begin as dreamy as that day began, but experiencing those few minutes of happiness reminded me of why I love my son and my boyfriend, and also, why I enjoy living. After I got to work later that morning and made lattes and frappuccinos for the masses, I deciphered the meaning of the amazing dream I had.

It had something to do with getting back to being honest with myself, my ARTwork, and being honest in my relationship with Ryan. Of all of the previous listed, hashing out the differences and issues Ryan and I have faced lately helped me the most in my path back to my pursuit of happiness; my path to making my good dreams my reality. After I came to terms with the fact that our relationship was out of my control, other than being the best possible partner I could be, I felt like a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders.

Somewhere in the past couple of months I lost my true self. It wasn't Ryan's fault. It was my own fault. I got caught up in trying to be someone I wasn't in an effort to fit into Ryan's life plans. And though I do believe that love is all about learning to compromise, I started to compromise on issues I didn't feel were right for me at all. The longer I kept my mouth shut and kept agreeing to things I didn't want, the further away from my true self I wandered.

I wandered off so far that I almost forgot what it was like to even be me: The young woman who is fierce, witty, happy, intelligent, generous, and most of all; GRATEFUL for every happy moment and every not-so-happy moment of her life.

The fact[s] of the matter, or rather, the lessons I learned on this detour in my pursuit of happiness were:

You can't make anyone happy if you're not happy yourself.

Compromise is important in love as is communication.

No matter how much you fear letting someone down or fear scaring them away, you have to be honest with them and you also have to be honest with yourself.

It's okay to have a bad day and you're not a total failure at life if you have one or even more than one bad day. Life's a bitch, but she's a pretty bitch, so it evens out in the end.

If you feel like you're spending too much time, too much money,
or too much energy, you most definitely probably are.

Acknowledging what you think and how you feel is proof of your existence.

The best way to pay homage to your own existence is to be yourself, truthfully, always.

Take time to check out the grand things life has to offer and when you can,
take time to notice the slightest things you encounter along your life's journey.

It's kind of funny but in this very moment as I wrap up this blog entry, I realize that I've come to the stage in my grief from losing my father, my grandfather, and a family member to homicide in 2009, that I've been trying to reach for a while now.

Acceptance.

For the first time in my life I'm not afraid to be who I am. I'm not fearful or embarrassed to share the story of who I am, where I have been, and to indulge in my plans for my life journey; post grief. I'm not afraid to be depressed, or angry...nor do I feel overwhelming guilt for becoming a better person from the tragedies I've seen and lived through. I'm not afraid of the good things that come my way and I'm not afraid to fail.

Most of all, I'm not afraid to let myself be happy alone or in the company of others.

Acceptance.

It finally found me and I didn't even realize it was near.

ACCEPTANCE: Now that we're face to face, what do you wanna do?
LIZ: I don't know for sure. Probably continue finishing the book/script and do my damnedest to get it stage ready this year. I'm happy that you found me! Right now I really wanna get this project off the ground so is it okay if we get together and catch up a little later? I'm trying to stick to my schedule so I can stay on track!
ACCEPTANCE: Girl, I just wanted to say hi and see how you were doing! You look great! Call me when you get back into town and we can catch up then. No worries!
LIZ: I'm okay with that!
ACCEPTANCE: Me too! And look, you were in the process of accepting that entire time and you didn't even realize how close you were, girl!
LIZ: I have a tendency to do that, to overlook what's in front of me, all around me!
ACCEPTANCE: No sweat girl we all do it! Just be safe and have fun working on your writing project this summer! I hope it all goes well!
LIZ: Thanks! I hope you have a good summer too!
ACCEPTANCE: Adios!
LIZ: Bye!

Our meeting wasn't quite as long or dramatic as I thought it would be. I expected it to be more drawn out, more teary and mournful but it wasn't. Sometimes what we expect is the last thing we receive and I'm happy to say that I've learned that lesson on this early morning: Sunday, March 6th 2011. I'm also happy that running into acceptance didn't veer me off my path or distract me from my goal to get my ARTwork ready for a new level.

All in all;

I'm okay with my family and my friends.
I'm okay with you
and not knowing how you are
or what you're thinking
Exactly
I'm okay with where I'm heading artistically.
I accept all of the places I've been
and haven't been
with and without you
with and without my dad
with and without him & she...
I accept all of that.

Most importantly
I accept all of my life

and all of your life
+ the loss of life
x1
x2
x3
Divided both you and me.

The good and the bad
every godforsaken moment
of sanity
and insanity
the dirty
and the clarity
I see it now
and I accept it all

Entirely.

LIZ: I'm starting to think my soul is nomadic for
all of eternity.
RANDALL: No way. No nomadice souls allowed.
LIZ: Tell me whyyyyy
RANDALL: In a fully lit room: CLOSE YOUR EYES
LEAN YOUR EYELIDS ON YOUR FIST WITH
PRESSURE FOR 20 SECONDS, LIFT UP, OPEN YOUR EYES, AND SEE THE SPARKLES. That is why.
LIZ: Ughhhh that makes no sense lol and now my eyes
are all fucked up.
RANDALL: Think about it.
LIZ: Okay, give me a minute to wrap my mind around it.

One minute later...

LIZ: I think I just got it.
RANDALL: What did you take from it?
LIZ: That I'm searching for things that are already around me.
RANDALL: Not so much that are all around you but are out there.
LIZ: I see. Pun intended.
RANDALL: Nice pun.

Prone to wander, I feel it.

Here's my heart, take and seal it

seal it for thy courts above.

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing.

Tune my heart to sing thy grace.
Streams of mercy, never ceasing

Call for songs of loudest praise.

Teach me some melodious sonnet,

sung by flaming tongues above.

Praise the mount, I'm fixed upon it

Mount of thy unchanging love

-- Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing/SUFJAN STEVENS

I'm okay with that. pt. III

2011-03-01T07:16:00.000-08:00

I did something all by myself.

I didn't plan to do it alone but on that day, roughly three weeks ago; it seemed like a good thing to try. Once it was all said and done, I wasn't sure if I did it right.

What the hell? I mean, what's the worst that could happen?

I could go to jail? Highly unlikely. Then again knowing my luck...

Nearly a month later and I can tell you the good news is, I wasn't arrested. I did it right.

I'm free.

However, the 2,765.00 I planned to get back from my 2010 tax return was not as lucky and unfortunately, it was apprehended by the Oklahoma Student Loan ASSociation. I use the word apprehend but allow me to face the fact: The money went back to OSLA because it belonged to OSLA, not me. I owed them and repaying the debt was the right thing to do.

In the past, after finding out about the financial set back, I would've thrown a Morrissey worthy pity party, complete with razor kits and smeared black eyeliner. And in all honesty I wanted to cry yesterday morning once I learned why the money hadn’t been deposited into my bank account yet. I had a feeling some of the money would be intercepted, but I most definitely did NOT anticipate the entire sum to be applied to my loan balance.

This time there was no dramatic celebration. In fact, it’s been nearly 24 hours since the let down and I concluded there are several reasons I haven’t relapsed into my former self destructive behavior.

1. 1. I was in a restaurant eating breakfast when my mother called to deliver the news, [which she read to
me from a letter I received at her address].

2. I wasn’t alone when I found out. I was in the company of a co-worker [now friend]; Chloe.
3. The moment I felt like crying over the loss of a material object; currency; the feeling of vomit
forming in my stomach took over everything else.

When my eyes swelled up with tears, I was confused and embarrassed. Why did the money suddenly matter to me when my life wasn’t depending on it? I admit, I wanted to buy tickets to the Austin City Limits Festival and I wanted to buy Adam a brand new play set for the backyard but I could still do both of those things. It would just take a little longer now. So why am I so upset? Oh yeah. I realized that my relationship with Ryan depended on the money since I promised to use part of it to take care of our bills so he could get out of Dallas and find a job closer to our home. But without that promise he isn’t leaving Dallas anytime soon.

I don’t want to lose Ryan.

Next was the issue of crying in front of Chloe. That breakfast date was the first time Chloe and I got together outside of work and I didn’t want to bring down the positive energy we were creating over coffee, solid art talk, eggs, and toast. So I refused to let the sadness get to me, at least for the time we were together. I wanted to continue our good vibes by taking the news in stride.

Choose the cycle of good energy over the negative.

Lastly, the whole crying in public thing is something I haven’t done since ….Never.

Well, only once.

I can’t remember a time when I ever thought crying in public was a good idea, except for when I was pregnant with Adam.

After going around in circles over these realizations in my mind and through talking with my new friend, I felt the fierceness I had a year ago begin to fill up my soul again . I didn’t realize my braveface had even left me until yesterday, when it returned in the form of a real smile and boisterous laughter as Chloe and I sat on the floor of the dank basement at the Fort Worth Public Library.

LIZ: …so yeah, that’s the story of Bonnaroo. My boyfriend—well ex now, R-U-N-N-O-F-T’d because of a bad acid trip and he thought everyone was trying to kill him. And before he realized it wasn’t real he called me and threatened to find someone to rape me with a broomstick.
CHLOE: [Laughing profusely] WOW. Just wow. And you stayed with this guy after that?
LIZ: You don’t understand. I LOVED this boy. I just thought he was going through a rough patch. I didn’t realize it was a rough life.
CHLOE: Wow. You’ve lived through some crazy experiences.
LIZ: Indeed. Indeed.

___________________________________

I'm not afraid of Nichols Park
I ride the train and I ride it after dark
I'm not afraid to get it right
I turn around and I give it one more try
I go out to the golden age

The spirit is right and the spirit doesn't change

_________________________________

I get wound up from time to time in the present so much that I forget just how far I’ve come from the places I’ve been. The weakness I felt once I realized I was going to have to let things happen between me and Ryan, instead of forcing him to be with me, reminded me of the last time I went searching for a boy who I thought was lost in the woods in Tennessee. But he wasn’t lost. Or maybe he was and he wanted to be lost? I don't know? I do know that I didn’t want to run after that boy in the woods but I did because I thought I was in love. And the relationship blew up in my face. I don’t want to lose Ryan but I refuse to chase him.

I refuse to chase anybody.

I also don’t want a relationship built around a money scheme either. That’s not who I am and unfortunately I don’t plan to change anytime soon.

My name is Liz Sweetly.
Most of my friends either call me Liz or Sweetly.
I don’t like running unless I have to for vanity issues.
I like to write. I love my son, my family, my friends and ART.
I like talking and listening, and I’m learning how to do the latter better every day.
I’ve seen a lot of life for 27 years old and I can’t wait to see more.

Even if the something more I see is something I do all by myself.

I don’t plan to see it alone but even if I do, I’ll know I did it right.

I'm free.

Finally; I’m okay with that.

I don't care what the captain said
I fold it right at the top of my head
I lost my sight and the state packs in
I follow my heart and it leads me right to Jackson.
-- Jacksonville/SUFJAN STEVENS

I'm okay with that. pt.II

2011-02-24T08:43:00.000-08:00

So, I put writing aside this week. I ate and I slept, just as Ryan asked me to do. I even threw in something from my own brain and went on a solo excursion to the Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth. The trip to the museum was the highlight on the week because I was able to find some artistic inspiration from Ed Ruscha's On the Road exhibit that accompanies Jack Kerouac's book, also titled, On the Road.

I understand what Ryan was after last week, when he asked me to do the normal things human beings do, (eat, sleep, etc...). He was trying to get me to relax for a minute, which is something I forget to do often. I'm glad he suggested some time off because it gave me a chance to come up for air, and during my brief break I was reminded of the seamless complexity of life through it's combined simplicities. If that makes sense.

It either does or it doesn't.

______________________________

LIZ: I really enjoyed this week
but I think I'm ready to start back
on the book this weekend.
RYAN: I'm okay with that.
______________________________

I cried myself to sleep last night
I was hypnotized
To improvise
On the attitude, the regret
Of a thousand centuries of Death
Even in my best condition
counting all the superstition

I am riding all alone.

I am writing all alone.

Even with the rest belated

everything is antiquated
Are you writing from the heart?

--Come on Feel the Illinoise/SUFJAN STEVENS

I'm okay with that. pt. I

2011-02-16T17:08:00.000-08:00

RYAN: You're exhausted. You need to eat and sleep. I don't know if you should
continue working on the memoir.
LIZ: Asking me to stop writing is like asking me to give up on myself.
RYAN: I already knew you wouldn't stop writing.

A 'No' uttered from deepest conviction is better and greater than a 'Yes' merely uttered to please, or worse, to avoid trouble.

-- Mahatma Gandhi

When Ryan left for work this morning, I stayed in bed for a few minutes and pretended that I had the option to go back to sleep. Nope. Work today. I got out of bed and jogged up the spiral staircase in our house so I could gauge what type of conditions Mother Nature brought us. From the balcony I studied the partly cloudy sky and noted the mild temperature of the air. The spring like weather I woke up to gave me hope that the ice and snow storm from a few weeks ago would be our last one for awhile.

Then again, the forces of nature are always game for unpredictability.

The TRE train from Dallas made it's presence known as it passed by the neighborhood, blowing it's ridiculously loud whistle several times. The sound mixed with the moderate climate reminded me of the days when I first moved to DFW, last spring 2010. I arrived in Texas alone, with a bag full of clothes, a couple of notebooks, a handful of Bic ballpoint pens, and an Acer notebook.

Fast forward to the present, and it's been a year since I left Oklahoma. Adam has settled into school and into our life together. I still handwrite these days, but now I use gel ink pens. I also received a brand new HP laptop from my younger brother, Joey. The gel ink and the new laptop have definitely increased my writing productivity at 110%.

Everything has changed.

There's more to add and subtract from my life story, circa 2011, than the things I mentally listed. The realization made me feel grateful and mournful. Experiencing the two emotions together was like watching them dance with one another in my mind and in my heart while they fought over which one would take the lead. Instead of giving into their conflict, I turned around, walked back into the house and left the two emotions to hash it out. Once inside, I wondered if I would come home from work later and find either of them, gratefulness or mourning, laid out in the front yard, tossed over the balcony, because I left the two feuding unsupervised?

Meh. It's not a long fall to the ground anyway. They'll survive.

But will I ever be strong enough to survive without them?
Would I miss their presence if I ever left them for good?

Do I even want that?

I question myself and the world around me on a daily basis. Sometimes I get answers and other times I'm not so lucky. The outcome is unpredictable, just as the forces of nature are.

I'm okay with that.

If I could
I'd fold myself away like a card table
A concertina or a Murphy bed
I would

but I wasn't made that way
So instead

I'm open all night
and the customers come to stay
Everybody tips
but not enough to knock me over

I just worked two shifts
and I'm so tired.

-- Oh My God, Whatever, Etc.../RYAN ADAMS

Give or Take

2011-02-07T00:09:00.000-08:00

Finally! The stupid Superbowl is over!

I was excited a few months ago when I found out north Texas would be hosting Superbowl XLV. However, working in downtown Fort Worth during the game left me with mixed emotions about the whole ordeal once it was all said and done. Not to mention the winter storm that arrived and camped out in our town last week. Between the on-edge east coast tourists and iced over streets, I applauded the terrible reviews I saw on the 10pm news tonight, regarding the Superbowl festivities.

I guess that makes me a Texas traitor for having nothing super great to say about the Superbowl?
Yeah? Fuck all that.

My bloodline runs deep, unless
I don’t sleep.
Figure it’s my POPS keeping me awake
Help me keep my mind off the clouds for reality
These mothafuckas can’t fathom the wizardry
Slow mo' brain that's backwards cowards
"Take a shower your attitude stinks."
Wanna know what I think?

Outside of the Superbowl, I found out that my 10 minute script wasn't accepted into the Source D.C.'s 10 minute play festival for 2011. This bothers me because I was able to make it into the theatre's semi-finals when the contest was a global endeavor, but I haven't been able to make it anywhere close to that level since they revamped the qualifications and made the contest a nation wide search, only.

I wasn't counting on getting a script into the contest, but regardless, it's been a hard pill to swallow that the theatre overlooked my entry. I chalk it up to, "everything happens for a reason", and I'm trying to keep my eyes forward, toward the ultimate prize; the completion of my personal manifesto/memoir project. Between the Superbowl, family, Ryan, and myself, it's been hard to schedule time to devote to my own art work.

Something's gotta give or I'll be forced to take. One way or another.

This is almost embarrassing to admit, but I miss the shit out of Oklahoma.

You must understand when I speak
This is how I really am
This is how I really think
Yes, I really do drink
I really do rage my demons out the cage
Before I became the age to even rage
I was drowning them sorrows with some OE...
--Mojo So Dope/KID CUDI

You shall receive.

2011-02-03T16:38:00.000-08:00

**This update is dedicated to my BFF Brandi Van Alphen and my biggest fan, Ms. Amy Brantley.

Obviously, Old Man Winter was offended that he didn't win the Ass Punch Award for a consecutive year, since he's ruining the vibe here in DFW. Everyone expected Sundance Square to be Super Bowl XLV, party central this week, but since the latest winter storm moved in and shutdown the city, it's been more like a ghost town. I was indifferent about the whole thing, til I started to realize how much the event, or rather the lack of events, affected businesses downtown. From the individual standpoint, the vibe of the city's residents has been affected and everyone is operating on sluggish mode, either grumpy because they have to travel to work in the subzero temperatures or they're getting cabin fever from being stuck indoors.

The weatherman said we have one more day of snow then the storm system is moving out and by Saturday the temperatures will be in the high 50s and low 60s. I hope so, because life in DFW feels frozen in time at the moment.

Despite the shitty conditions, Ryan, Patrick and I are venturing over to The Loft in Dallas in a few hours to check out The Flaming Lips and Neon Indian. If anyone is capable of boosting morale, it's Wayne Coyne from the FLips. When I lived in Oklahoma I followed the FLips to all of their events, kind of the way Deadheads followed the Grateful Dead. I miss those days of living from one FLips event to the next. Unfortunately, time doesn't allow for such debauchery in my life like it used to when I lived in Oklahoma.

When people ask me these days, "How's life in Texas?", I tell them all the same thing.

I need a break. The city [DFW] is constantly moving, and if you don't move with it, you will end up ran over by bus, train or crazy commuter on the interstate.

Maybe life in DFW being frozen in time at the moment isn't such a bad thing? After all, it's provided everyone, including me, a break from the non-stop hoopla of the metroplex. At least for one more day.

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes
Let them know you realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round
-- Do You Realize/ THE FLAMING LIPS

THE OFFICIAL 2011 update

2011-01-24T09:03:00.000-08:00

...from the iPhone
PATRICK: Are you ever gonna update your blog?
LIZ: lol Yesss!
PATRICK: Don't 'lol yes' like you're gonna update it soon.

I just shook the handshake.
I just sealed the deal.
I'll try not to let them take everything they can steal.
People always told me
Don't forget your roots
I know.
I can feel them underneath my leather boots.
--The Handshake/MGMT

Here it is: THE OFFICIAL 2011 update.

It's been one year since I moved to DFW and things have done a complete 180 since I've been here. I'm almost finished with the book/script I've been writing since 2009. I actually planned to have it done last weekend, but an unexpected death in the family threw me slightly off course, and I took some time to re-RE-assess my life before I finished up the final edits on the book.

To add to the insanity of trying to finish my manifesto, I got an email last week from a man who lives in NYC named Kevin Allison. He's the creator and host of a storytelling podcast I listen to called RISK!. When I first arrived to DFW, I pitched a story idea at him via email and now, a year later, he wrote me back and asked me to record the story for the show. So the book is put on hold for one more week while I work on the story for RISK!.

Then there's the Superbowl, and ESPN and the Green Bay Packers are staying on my home turf in downtown Ft.Worth, TX. The business we'll get at Starbucks I'm sure will be tremendous, not to mention that Ryan's restaurant GREENZ in uptown Dallas will be busy because they're located next to the Packers' practice field at SMU. Kinda makes me sad that Brett Farve isn't with the Packers anymore because I was really looking forward to making small talk with him and getting some d*ck pics out of the whole thing.

I kid, I kid.

Finally, someone crept back into my life a few weeks ago, whom I met when I first moved to DFW. [If you guessed DRAKE DARKO, you were right.] With everything going on, it's no wonder the night terrors have returned and I haven't slept in nearly two days.

So there it is, THE OFFICIAL 2011 update.

LIZ: Are we really using our phones to look at the Pei Wei menu?
PATRICK: Um, YEAH. I bought these iPhones for us because they do everything.
LIZ: Gotcha.

Click here to watch me and Ryan in a ridiculous commercial at one of our favorite hang out spots, J.R. Bentley's in Arlington, TX.

This weekend's reality; This week's dream

2010-12-06T06:25:00.000-08:00

I made it back to DFW from my Oklahoma excursion this weekend, [just in time to watch the Sooners win the Big XII Championship 2010].

I was happy to be home, but a few hours before I left Oklahoma, I felt a flame of melancholy start to warm the inside of my chest. It felt dreadful and I started to miss my little brother [AKA Joe Darkly], though I hadn't even left yet. He had to work the first night I got there so we didn't get to talk much, but we made up for it the night before I left. I complain about my little brother's lack of respect for anyone including himself, but I still love him. Maybe distance really does make the heart grow fonder and he and I just needed some time apart in order to appreciate each other's existence?

If I thought we could get along, I would love to get him out of my mother's house and bring him back to live with us in Texas. Our sibling Holy Trinity isn't complete without him.

Ugh.

I think this sudden need to kidnap Darkly is part of the whole pseudo-support cycle I said I would stop relying upon. I know he's content with the time we spent visiting. In that same thought, I would be willing to put money on it that he would be just as content if he and I never had that time together. Truthfully, my little brother's ability to cope with life without ever needing anyone is something I've been jealous of, for all of my mine.

I also just realized that I forgot to add Darkly to the list of the unstable things in my life. I suppose I didn't add him because I'm not sure which one of us is behind the reason for our unstable relationship.

I bet it's a 50/50.

Oddly enough, the person I'm least concerned about these days is my mother. She seems to be doing really well which is awesome. I believe that when she moved back to Oklahoma this year, she was able to find some solitude after my dad's passing. I know she's not 100% content because she's never 100% content. It's her nature to be more than 50% dissatisfied with the world at all times. But after seeing her on the visit and feeling the confidence she exuded, I know she's feeling better these days. I just wish she had more to do with her time. The woman is intelligent and she has a degree that's just dying to be used. Not because she needs the extra income, but because I think it would secure her confidence if she was doing more.

That's another thing I need to work on letting go; letting go. It's not my job to save everyone, despite the past record. It's difficult learning to let go. But my mother and my brother have made the task of letting them go as easy as humanly possible.

This is the part where I accept their want to be alone because it isn't meant to be taken personally.

That was my last visit to the Sooner state for 2010 and for awhile, since I made the decision not to go back to Oklahoma until I get the first volume of my memoir finished. Through this written agreement with myself, I will make sure to utilize my time in Texas, without interruption. I'm not too far behind on the book and most of it is written. It's the format of the book I'm having issues with. It's proven to be a challenge because I don't want the book to be merely a book. I want it to be an experience that the reader; that the audience experiences as I did, so we share the experience, together.

On another note, I had a series of random dreams last night that I remembered vividly when I woke up this morning.

The dream began with my shift manager from Starbucks asking me to pick her up so she and I could go to work together. We both ended up running late and we got in trouble for opening the store late. Then all of my co-workers showed up and we went on a field trip and had a picnic out in this open, outdoorsy type place. The dream took a random turn and suddenly I was at A Perfect Circle concert. Paz Lenchatin, [their former guitarist who now plays with ZWAN], spoke to the audience.

She said, "Yeah, Maynard took a picture of me and this Mormon guy backstage before we came on. Remember not to live your life on your knees."

Strange, strange, strange.

In true dream fashion, I was suddenly teleported to another scene at Ryan's dad's house. Ryan and I walked into the house and his step-mother was laying on her bed next to a girlie magazine and a nail file. Ryan asked if he could have the magazine and she gave it to him. He walked out of the bedroom and left me with his step-mother, alone. I asked her if I could have the nail file and she handed it to me and started crying. I could hear loud music coming from somewhere in the house and his step-mother said, "That's [Ryan's dad]." I started to get the vibe that they were fighting and she wanted to be alone.

From the bedroom, I walked out and found the hallway staircase that led to the guest room. I heard a door slam shut from somewhere in the back of the house, which I assumed to be Ryan walking outside. Then the music coming from the room where Ryan's dad was at became louder and louder until it was all I could hear.

I stared up at the hallway staircase and felt a dreadful, warm feeling return to my chest. It felt similar to the feeling I had when I left Oklahoma this weekend.

"Life is not a dream when you can't wake up from the dream you wanted."

-- The Freak/SMASHING PUMPKINS

Ready...Aim...FIRE!

2010-12-03T03:36:00.000-08:00

Tonight I faced the one thing I fear the most. The thing I fear more than life, more than the grief that still hangs around and sneaks up on me, more than heights or eating popcorn shrimp that I thought was popcorn chicken...

Tonight I faced me, myself.
Alone.

It's been roughly a year since I've done that.

When I left DFW on the Amtrak this evening, en route to OKC, I knew it was going to be an experience, but I wasn't prepared for what ensued once I stepped onto the train. While I found an empty seat and tried to get comfortable, I realized it wasn't going to happen. I was too anxious about going on the trip without Adam or Ryan, so there was no way I was going to be able to relax. Then I wondered if I still had time to back out and get off the train. My anxieties were already stewing earlier in the day and once the train started moving, they heated up and boiled over into a full-fledged panic attack nightmare.

I started looking around, trying to make a quick decision: Should I cry or get up and jump off the train? Like spidey-sense, I became hyper aware of everything around me. It felt violent, like I was forced to wake up from the longest period of sleep in the history of ZZzzzzs. The entire experience was shocking to my psyche and it cut sharp into me, leaving what felt like a gaping, deep Grand Canyon sized incision right in the center on the top of my head.

The sudden forced awake state and alertness caused the thoughts in my brain to spin around wildly and I starting questioning my life, the train ride, and their validity, combined.

Did my father really pass away last year? And did the murder really happen? Is my mother living in Oklahoma and I'm really living in Texas now? What about my brothers? They're still around, right? And Adam....and Ryan? Did I dream my entire life?. Who am I? Where am I?

In the past I would have refused the possibility of my life as a dream sequence. The theory as a viable answer to the things that I've seen and the things I've lived through is something I'd almost rather not imagine because even though I've lived through a good portion of fucked up situations, the experiences I've had are belong to me and they're my only reality.

Even if I were to cast aside my true experiences and buy into the idea that my entire life was a series of dreams, never ending until now, I'd still be the person I am today. Because no matter what, the things I've dreamed or lived through are all I know. The lessons I've learned, the touches, the kisses, the goodbyes that I wasn't ready to say and even the hellos that I wasn't prepared to offer...

That was all I wrote for the past 27 years, figuratively and literally speaking.

To explore this possibility even further, imagining life as a dream is entertaining because it offers no definite beginning, middle, or end. Without definite starts and an unknown ending, life, the dream, becomes infinite. Perhaps the ability for life to be infinite is possible without the dream theory? Maybe that's what life is truly meant to be?

Living = Seeing = Dreaming = Believing...
At least for the time being.

This theory about life as a dream is a theory I learned of a few years ago. It was inspired from the teachings of a psychologist named Carl Jung. Jung theorized that our dreams were meant to help guide us in our realities, in our lives as we live them. Take that theory a step further and you have the birth of the waking dream. A waking dream is thought to be any and every unique, noteworthy, stand-out, devastating, and monumental event[s] we experience and later recall. This act of recalling is said to aid us in our spiritual growth because we are meant to learn a lesson within each of the waking dreams we see and/or experience.

If the waking dreams theory is possible then let's go back to the start of this particular dream on the train and attempt to understand what it's trying to tell me.

My biggest fear is myself, solo.
This fear causes me great shame to admit, but I have to admit it openly and honestly because I made a vow to myself and to the world at the beginning of 2010, that I would be as open and honest as possible with my thoughts and feelings, especially as I expressed them within my writing.

Why is it that I fear myself?
This fear has been an on again/off again phobia I've dealt with during all of the 27 years of my life. It increased during the summer of 2009 and has grown at a rapid rate since then, nearly paralyzing my life, today. Examining the symbolism in the fear, it's constant coming and going, I'm forced to list all of the things in my life that share the on again/off again characteristic.

Ex-boyfriends
My father
My patriarchal family, particularly my aunts
Friends
Fears
Unsettled grief from the loss of loved ones

Listing the things in my life that share the trait of instability made me realize how drastic the instability in my life has been. But it's not totally bleak...

Fast-forward to the present and it's more than evident that instability is no longer a constant in my life. Life has calmed down since January 2010 when I moved to Texas. I have routines now, schedules I do my best to adhere to, and [somewhat] clear goals for my life. This is a first for me and it's a welcome change from the past. So why do I fear myself? Fearing myself sometimes and not sometimes, is an action I've come to find comfort within since it's familiar. Though unstable, it's been a consistent, reliable variable I could count on at my best and worst moments in life. Just the same as I always knew that my dad would go on alcoholic binges and leave for days or weeks, then he'd always come back home at the end of his vicious cycle, and the way I knew that my ex-boyfriends and I would fight, break-up, then make-up:

Lather, rinse, repeat.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
...

Translation: The fear of myself is merely an echo of the instability that has been my life story.

But as of now, that story is no longer mine. In fact, this is the ending of the old story and the start of an entirely new book, complete with new characters and fresh plots just waiting to be played out and told! With the excitement of this chance to start over, why, why, why am I terrified of myself outside of the past chaos? I should be afraid of the chaos, not myself.

Trying to get the answer to this question is like having to drag someone out to face the front line of a firing squad. [Not that I would know first hand what it's like to drag someone to their death. I'm only making parallels to the two scenarios similarities for horrorcore's sake.]

There are several reasons I fear myself and this new life more than I fear the chaos I've already lived through. The biggest reason is because I dread any experience or person I don't know. Nothing seems more frightening to me than being forced to face or deal with yet another bullshit person or circumstance, especially without anything or anyone to turn to for help. Whether that help be in the form of offering me a bigger disaster to focus on besides the one at hand, or pseudo-support from anyone other than myself; these are the things I've come to depend upon.

Finally, the core of the fear is exposed; stripped down naked with every nasty flaw visible to on-lookers and to the imaginary firing squad, eagerly waiting to hear the signal.
Ready...
Aim...

There it is, assed out: I am addicted to pseudo-support systems and false hopes.
Now, what-if, and this is an Olympic sized what-if, but what-if I didn't rely on pseudo-support or false hopes any longer? Pseudo-support systems and false hopes are a lot like life support when you think about it. All those tubes and needles and fluids; being hooked up to a machine that controls the beating of the heart... Why? To live a life resigned to a twin sized gurney, loved ones stopping by the hospital for visits when it's convenient, to experience the heart wrenching goodbyes as loved ones leave and return to their lives in their queen-sized beds without tubes, needles and fluids being shoved into their bodies; their own hearts beating for them.

Either way death is inevitable and permanent life support becomes an unhealthy and unnatural means of survival that only prolongs the unavoidable event. Living on life support sounds way too familiar for comfort. Even with this knowledge, I'm still afraid to face this new life alone because I'm afraid I'm going to fail and if I fail--

Well I don't want to know what happens if I fail.

In the cheesiest of cheesy statements; Failure is not an option. I know it's not an option because I've purposefully tried to fail at life on several occasions. I mean I've tried really hard to fail at life before and have been unsuccessful in my attempts, every time. I fail at failing, so that leaves me with no other choice. Besides, if I've made it this far, despite my fears, I'd hate to give up now. Now that I've seen a happy life is possible. Of course, I also know it's possible I could end up living a crappy life pt.deux.

I have to give up the pseudo-support and embark on this new chapter of my life, alone. Just me in my life, living and dealing with whatever and whomever comes along.

Ready...

Kind of ironic when it's put in those terms; Just me in my life, living and dealing with whatever and whomever comes along.

Aim...

I guess no one is ever truly alone because life is constantly existing, whether we see it or not. Kind of like that legendary question: If a tree falls down in the wilderness and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? It may not make a sound but it does cause a vibration which can set off a multitude of chain reactions. People and their lives are the same. Whether or not we know each other exists, we all do things that cause reactions we don't realize, or maybe we do realize them, though never in their absolute entirety. The reactions go on and on and overlap so that we lose their exact starts and their exact ends.

It's from this that I am certain of one thing: We are all connected and life is infinite.

I began to take solace on the train and in the certainty of the infinite. I relaxed as the train pulled into the station at OKC. I stretched my arms out in front of me and gathered my belongings. I pondered the idea of the waking dream. If it still stands as a possibility, then the things I've seen and lessons I learned in my dream, I plan to apply to my present life and to my future. My future from this moment is scary, but it's inevitable.

FIRE!

So the question resurfaces: Where do I go from here?

It's too soon to predict or say at the moment. I know I'm not running from anything and I'm willing to learn how to deal with life alone, sans pseudo support systems. Who knows what I'll do or where I'll go? Maybe I'll make breakfast and hang out in my PJs all day, watching daytime television? Maybe I'll shower and check out an art museum? Maybe I'll go back to sleep?

Or maybe I'll finish writing that memoir I've been working on for the past 27 years?

I
alone am uncertain about what's in store for the next chapter of my life.
That's okay because
I
even with the aid of others, am uncertain about what will happen from here.
All
I
am certain of is that the possibilities are endless.

Words, words, words!

2010-11-26T23:57:00.000-08:00

Finishing with 83, 544 words toward the completion of my first novel;

Where do I go from here?

2010-11-20T12:53:00.000-08:00

"In the end, the answer was so simple it took a week to come up with."
--THE VIRGIN SUICIDES

Thank god the weekend is finally here.

I've been anticipating the end of this week since it started. Mainly because my feelings of grief began resurfacing fully since last Sunday night. I tried to figure out why I felt so terrible, let it go, then felt like shit, then tried to figure it again; repeat. It makes me feel like I'm going insane when I feel down to the core of my entire being, extremely low.

Grief is an overwhelming thing to shoulder and deal with alone. I wouldn't wish the feeling of it upon my worst enemy, not because I don't have any enemies, but because working through grief is single-handedly the HARDEST thing I've ever had do in my life. That's a huge statement because I've dealt with some high-stress situations before this, especially for a 27 year old young woman. From being a single mother of a child with special needs, one marriage, one divorce, and recession. I managed to live through those circumstances without entirely losing it. Even with all of my previous stresses, they couldn't prepare me for the inevitable showdown between myself and the grief I feel from the losses of 2009.

This seems like a ridiculous victory to celebrate, but I am proud of myself for acknowledging what I am feeling. It's driving me mad because I don't understand it fully. I think my routine of picking up and moving on from each of the events that shook my life in 2009 have caused me to run, out of habit now, from everything I face in my life today. This includes running from the mental and emotional aftershock effects from it all and I ask myself frequently; Where do I go from here?

I've come to realize I have to face this grief because it doesn't matter where I run to; Texas, Canada, Australia... the Moon; it will still be with me. Fighting doesn't make sense to me unless it's to survive or to protect. But that doesn't matter because I'm going to have to drag out the fighter within me to face my grief and ride it out. [Unless of course, it rides me out instead].

On a more upbeat note, I was reminded of the kindness and beauty of humanity this week, twice.

My shift manager from work asked me how I was doing and I told her I just felt tired. She could tell there was a little more to the story but she was respectful and didn't force me to tell her the whole situation. Instead, she set my tips next to the register as she left; "Don't forget to count them", she said. I walked over to the register and found a note on my tips.

The note made me smile and I wanted to chase after her to thank her, but I heard our door chime go off, signaling a customer coming into the store, so I looked up.

LIZ: Hi! Welcome to--Hey! What are you up to?!
RUSS: Just stopping by to check on you. Have you taken your lunch yet?
LIZ: Not yet. Give me a second and I'll go clock out downstairs.
RUSS: Oh hey, I thought you might like this.

RUSS: ...so yeah, my amp-head fried and I gotta buy a new one but it was still a good show. You and Pat missed out. What about you? What's been going on?
LIZ: I think I've been depressed, dealing with a lot of old feelings from some things. It's been frustrating-- kind of the reason I've been out of the loop as of late.
RUSS: That's okay. The biggest thing to do is just keep doing what you're doing. Keep working on your memoir and get it finished while you have the drive to... You know, to get it done. And keep yourself busy.
LIZ: Advice taken!
RUSS: Just so you know, you're not going crazy girl.
LIZ: You know, I've found some solace in the past month from something you once told me.
RUSS: What was that?
LIZ: That paranoia wasn't a dysfunction. That paranoia was actually a heightened sense of awareness.
RUSS: It is. It's just being more aware of what's happening, what's going on around you.
LIZ: Do you ever look for repeating symbols in your life?
RUSS: Oh yeah, all the time. Mainly numbers. Certain sequences of numbers and their patterns.
LIZ: I've been trying to figure out why the infinite symbol keeps popping up in my life everywhere.
RUSS: It means that nothing has an exact start or end.
LIZ: You really think so?
RUSS: I know so.

It's instinctual to be aware of another person's emotions. But it's by our choice whether or not we choose to exercise our ability to empathize and show care for others. There's not much to it and it can be done with or without words.

I was grateful for the two acts of kindness and though I wasn't back to operating at 110%, the small talk and sincere gestures made me feel more connected to my present state of life and where I am today.

Then I found the answer to my daily questionnaire.

Q. Where do I go from here?

A. Nowhere. I don't have to run anymore.

Just a bad day.

2010-11-15T11:55:00.000-08:00

Monday morning, 7:30am.
Outside on the balcony of the house, smoking cigarettes with Ryan before he leaves for his daily commute to work.

LIZ: I'm sorry for waking you up so late last night.
RYAN: I don't think it was that late, really. Do you know what time it was?
LIZ: No...
RYAN: Well try to have a good day.
LIZ: I'll be okay. It was just unexpected. It surprised me as much as it surprised you.

Neither Ryan or I knew what time it was when I got out of bed last night, sobbing. I do know what sparked the waterworks. It's embarrassing to admit because my sudden, deep sadness was sparked by one simple sentence from the bedtime story I read to Adam last night, [Mercer Mayer's Just a Bad Day]. Hearing myself say the sentence out loud made me feel vulnerable and lost. I wished that I could say the sentence in my everyday life, but I'll never get the chance to again. The sentence I'm referring to;

Then dad came home.

I was actually in a great mood last night until reading that sentence. It triggered something that made my heart feel like it was hit by a speeding freight train going 100 MPH; the train hauling issues from 2009 nearly smashing over the last, little bit of positive outlook I have left .

After Ryan left for work this morning, I began recalling my various experiences with death and loss. My archived mental notes exhibited a pattern I never noticed until now. It appears that I have a record. I have a record of habit; coming to terms with grief from the passing of my loved ones at the most inconvenient times and places.

There was last night's book massacre, and the coffee nazi...and there was even a third time I was K.O.'d by sudden grief.

A former lover of mine, [whom afterward, I remained good friends with], Smaz, died in a car accident in October 2002, I continued to live life as if his death didn't deeply affect me. Roughly a month after he passed, my advisor asked me to help judge a high school theatre contest and I agreed. The first scene we watched was from Steel Magnolias. As the characters began talking about their sister who just died, my eyes began to swell up at the mention of death. I bolted out of the theatre, [quietly as possible because I have a deep respect for the sanctuary of the stage.] Once I got out of the building and made it outside, I lurched over the grass like I was going to vomit but nothing came out. I just started hyperventilating. My heart began pounding and it felt like someone just shot me in the chest, close range, with a bazooka gun. I found out later that my reaction was a panic attack, complete with tears that erupted from my eyes as if they were mini geysers.

Even after assessing my coping skills, I do not understand why I reacted the way I did to the book last night. How could one measly sentence send me into a black hole of defeat? I feel like I've come to terms with 2009; my father's death, followed by the homicide, then my grandpa's passing, so there's no need to overreact anymore. Not understanding why it got to me so badly eats at me [almost] more than the feelings of depression that came with it.

There are a multitude of things that can ignite loss from the past. I get that. They say there's no exact way to partake in or understand the grieving process. The most important thing to do, is to allow yourself to grieve however you choose to, as needed. So I guess that means I have to accept that if I still cry sometimes over my father's death, it just happens. I wished I didn't because I hate sobbing. Simply, it sucks.

I am hopeful that in the future, the fall-out of feelings from 2009 will not feel as intensely negative as they do now. Once I get my memoir project finished, I believe it will be a huge step in helping me release some of the unsettled grief and grievances I continue to hold inside.

In a letter from my father that was written in 1997, he told me the cycle of negativity that lingered around our family had to be stopped, starting with me and my life. His words and direction in the letter didn't make sense to me back then, but today I finally understand what he meant.

But [Together and Alone]

2010-11-12T20:01:00.000-08:00

"I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but."
--Maniac/KID CUDI ft. CAGE

I've been working on a sort-of-kind-of memoir for the past year. It's been an extremely rough, raw writing experiment; terribly unorganized. The past two months I've spent trying to put some order to the whole concept in hopes to bring the short stories I've lived through, back to life. I want to share these experiences to entertain anyone who wants to be entertained. I also want to empathize with others who may have gone through and seen some of the realest life situations.

After living through some of the biggest life changes a person can live through, I feel like sharing my stories will positively affect anyone who chooses to listen or read. Most of what I've been through, would and will, shock people. If the stories are taken for face value, they sound like depressing, scary urban legends. However, if people place their own life experiences in between the written lines of mine and compare them, our experiences become shared. Everyone's experiences, everyone's problems, and everyone lives are connected, [and "no one man's stresses are greater than any other man's"].

Through this way of sharing, we live each and every experience together, so no one is ever truly alone.

But I'd be lying if I said I never wished that I was truly alone, sometimes.

"You are who you are and I know who I am."

2010-11-10T07:26:00.000-08:00

It always starts with a small conversation, when suddenly I'm sent into an abyss of deep thought that forces me to explore and evaluate my life and art.

It almost always starts out this innocent; my descent. I'd swim around forever in those darkest, below sea-level depths if I could. Sometimes I wonder if maybe I am stuck in those waters, in that mode of thought, and I don't even realize it?

At work last week...
SHELBY: You remind me of this rapper named Cage.
LIZ: Well...I have been listening to a lot of rap lately.

I laughed when Shelby told me this, only because I had no idea what she meant exactly. I imagined myself as a rapper, pondered over various MC names, then giggled some more. She elaborated on her statement and where she failed to explain with her own words, she pulled out her iPhone and introduced me to the lyrical content and sounds from Mr.Cage.

You're always dying inside
That much closer to home
A crowded street corner
Surrounded by people, all alone.
Pain in the heart
Rain in the dark
The wind is glum and bitter.
-- I Never Knew You/CAGE

Yep. It appears that I am, in fact, stuck in that mode of thought. It's not a secret anymore. Not so much because everyone else knows it and sees it, but because I know it now.

I don't know what the hell I was thinking when I thought I wouldn't be permanently changed by the things I've experienced the past two years. It's incredible to have been through the INs and OUTs of life, especially at my age, thoroughly enough to see your happiest dreams, your most feared nightmares, and your reality all mesh together and become one. Suddenly there is no line between fantasy and real life. The walls come down and boundaries cease to exist.

It's at that moment, I believe, anything is possible becomes true.
Beautiful, heavenly things are possible and horrific, hell-on-earth things are possible.

You know it.
And now I know.
So that's everyone that needs to know I suppose.

With this knowledge, I've decided to start embracing the darkest parts of my life and art. No more editing for content or to save face.

You are who you are and I know who I am.

I've been working the past couple of months with Ryan and Patrick, laying out my artistic career goals and mapping out a plan to achieve those goals. It's awesome living and working with two managers who [mostly] understand my life and art.

With their help now, I'm able to freely explore and embrace in complete darkness and almost always, I never get completely lost, forever.

Prelude to the Prologue: Holy.Fuck.Shit.

2010-11-02T10:46:00.000-07:00

NaNoWriMo

REsurfacation.

2010-11-01T10:06:00.000-07:00

It's Monday, November 1st, 2010. Halloween is over and we're officially on the down slope of 2010. I didn't get to enter my art installation into the Dia de Los Muertos art show because the art director said he could only give me a 36" x 36" wall space. To this, my reply to him;

"Then don't advertise that your show is accepting installations. 36" x 36" of wall space is hardly enough space for an installation. [Fucka]." *

Usually I'd just pick myself up and move on from something like this. I still plan to put together the installation and enter it into another show. In the meantime I feel something unsettled within myself. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I can feel it rumbling inside of my chest. I thought maybe I just needed to cry or something, so I did that yesterday as we left Ryan's grandmother's house. Once we got home, I took a nap. I hoped to feel better after the tiny sleep break, but I didn't.

I imagine this feeling is from the never ending, constantly unsettled feelings from the past that won't ever subside. I go back and forth on the issues, letting them go, then being blindsided by the them when they resurface. I never anticipate their REsurfacation.**

I'm super paranoid
like a sixth sense.
Since [our] father[s] died
I ain't been writing since.
My heart is an Open sore
that I hope heals soon.

With it being November, it's time for me to get back on the art wagon for sure. As I write this paragraph I'm beginning to realize that's where some of the unsettled feelings in me start--
When I stop--Creating art.

I entered a script to D.C.'s The Source Theater play festival last week. We'll see how that goes. I should find out if I made the cut in a few months.

Speaking of resurfacing, it was roughly a year ago when my friend Jymz and I had a conversation that, for some reason, I haven't been able to stop thinking about, today.

LIZ: So what do you think about the new Jay-Z album?
JYMZ: It's aight.
LIZ: What do you mean, 'it's aight'?! It's amazing!
JYMZ: Yeah...but I have some issues with it. Lyrically speaking.
LIZ: Explain. I'm listening.
JYMZ: Well you know, the beats are good, but how many times can you sing about 'back in the day' when you used to sell drugs. You know things can't be that bad for Jay-Z now. It gets 'old' after a while singing about 'your old stash spots'.
LIZ: I didn't ever really think about it like that.
JYMZ: Get it?
LIZ: (Smiles) I hear ya.

* I didn't actually call the art director a fucka, just in case he REsurfaced into my life again.
** Yeah, I know REsurfacation isn't a word. I just made it up.

________________________________________________________________________________________

November 1st, 2010
1:23pm

The four minutes and fifty-two seconds hallway.

I noticed I had a missed call from Adam's school, so I immediately returned the call.

After several rings....
MAN: Hello. [Insert name of Adam's school here]
LIZ: Hi! My son goes to school there. His name is Adam [insert last name here],
I just got a call from the school and I'm returning the call.
MAN: Oh, okay. Hold on, let me find someone who knows. Oh yeah, there's the school nurse. Hold on a second ma'am.

Exactly four minutes and fifty-two seconds pass...
NURSE: Hi! Is this Adam's mom?
LIZ: Yes! What's wrong?!?!
NURSE: Oh, Adam's fine. We just wanted to let you know that he got his arm stuck in a rocking chair earlier today and he may or may not have a little bruising from it.
LIZ: Oh my god! That's it?! That was the LONGEST four minutes and fifty-two seconds I've ever experienced in my life.
NURSE: (Laughing) Oh, I'm so sorry! I promise if there was ever something really wrong we would definitely find a way to get ahold of you.
LIZ: Well thank you for the phone call and for letting me know.
NURSE: Sure thing! Have a good day!

One thing I know for sure today. It's very evident that my anxieties have REsurfaced, fully.

There's only so far you can go
When you're living in a hallway
that keeps growing
I think to myself
[Four more minutes and fifty-two seconds]
and I'll be there.
--5 & 1/2 Minute Hallway/POE

Lemonade or straight whiskey?

2010-10-28T09:23:00.000-07:00

Ryan and I are going to see Minus the Bear tonight at House of Blues in Dallas, TX. I'm excited about the show, though the reason we're going is because he bought the tickets a few weeks ago when we were fighting. I remember standing outside on my balcony when he handed me the envelope. I already knew what it was without opening it. "Nice try", I said, and I tossed the envelope aside; "You still have to talk to me."

Sometimes it's frustrating being in a relationship with someone who doesn't speak the same language. I feel like that with Ryan, frequently. I don't believe that we're incapable of communication. We can communicate if he's willing to listen and vice versa. Since the night we hashed out our differences and he gave me the Minus the Bear tickets, we've been working on communicating with each other. Trust that there are still days when I want to scream directly into one of his ears because it seems like he can't hear me. There are also days when I want to erect statues in his honor because he takes the time to talk things out when one of us is unhappy.

Going over it in my head, the central core of our biggest debates stem from growing up in two entirely different worlds. Ryan grew up in a Mormon faith based home where Joseph Smith (and apparently lemonade, as Ryan has confessed to me) ruled. I grew up in a place where no one truly ruled and straight whiskey was my father's drink of choice.

It seems like it wouldn't matter how we grew up since we both claim to be different people today than we were as children back then, but it does matter. The ideals we were conditioned to learn and believe in as children resound in every adult's soul, whether the adult chooses to believe it or not. Don't get me wrong, we discover things as we grow that shape our beings as people, but our upbringing is a key factor in who we are.

I didn't always believe that faith played any sort of role in relationships until a few years ago. A former lover of mine and I were sitting outside on the tailgate of his 1983 Ford pickup truck. We were drinking wine and staring up at the stars in the summer night sky.

"Do you believe in God?" he asked me.
"I don't know. I think it's a possibility", I replied.

The rage that followed from my reply made me wish I never dared to sit outside and stare at the stars in the sky with him.

"How can you believe in God when there is so much science that disproves it?!?!" he screamed at me.
"I don't know? It just seems to me that it's possible and it's not possible", I said.

He stormed off into the house and I sat there on the tailgate of his truck and finished my glass of wine. I stared at the stars alone and realized that our differences of opinions, faith, and beliefs affected more than what went on in our heads, separately. The differences and lack of communication affected us until we were no more.

I don't want that with Ryan. I want something better.

So I don't expect Ryan to learn to speak my language anymore. I don't want to learn his language either. We're making up an entirely new language of our own in order to live in harmony. I think that's part of what love is; starting something new, together.

Lemonade or straight whiskey?
Neither.
Combing the two?

Now we're talking.

Everyone has their obsession
Consuming thoughts, consuming time
They hold high their prized possession
That defines the meaning of their lives

You are mine.

-- You are Mine/MUTE MATH

Everything and everyone happens [and doesn't happen] for a reason. (The "Somewhere Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World" Reprise)

2010-10-14T10:04:00.000-07:00

"When I was just a little boy standin' to my Daddy's knee, my poppa said, 'Son, don't let the man get you--
Do what he done to me.' "
--Born on the Bayou/CCR

It's been almost a month since my mom moved back to Oklahoma. I've spent this month adjusting to living and settling in with both Adam and Ryan. Admittedly, I will say it hasn't been all rainbows and sunshine. I almost forgot how hard it was to take care of Adam without my mother's help. On the Ryan side, I almost forgot how hard it was to make a true relationship work. But after the past few weeks we've begun to find our niche and started to learn how to live our new lives together, on every level.
(Cue in RAINBOWS and SUNSHINE.)

I'm figuring out how to balance all of the piEces of this new life; my family and art as well. I decided that once November gets here, my second priority will be working on getting my own art career in gear. Until then, I'm exposing my heart, my mind, and my soul to EVERYTHING and becoming inspired by the world around me; gaining inspiration from those close to me and from complete strangers.

October 2010 suggested list of things I should experience

Apocalypse Now - (Patrick and Ryan)
Mayan Exhibit at Kimbell Art Museum - (self-suggestion)
~~Ansel Adams photography exhibit at Amon Carter Museum~~ - (Patrick)
Road trip to Oklahoma with Adam and Ryan - (self-suggestion)
Minus the Bear show at the House of Blues in Dallas - (Ryan)
[Open suggestions here.]

Wednesday afternoon, on the street, in downtown Fort Worth...
OLD MAN: Are you going to dye your hair purple like that girl's hair?
LIZ: (Smiles at the man) No, I didn't plan to.
OLD MAN: That's good. My hair is brown and gray. Your hair will get gray one day too.
LIZ: (Laughs) I hope it doesn't!
OLD MAN: You just gotta keep waking up. That's the key.You gotta keep waking up. Over and over. Everyday.

I've also decided to enter an art installation piece into an art show in Fort Worth. The show is themed Dia de Los Muertos, and opens on October 30th. It's my first art show, so obviously I'm excited but I'm also nervous. The installation I'm entering is going to feature a 12ft x 8ft recreation of my parents' dining room, as it would look in the morning, if my father were still alive today. It's sounds vague right now, but once I write out the concept and get the blue prints for the design drawn out it will make a little more sense, visually speaking.

RYAN: What do you think the best CCR song is?
LIZ: That's easy. It's, "Born on the Bayou".
RYAN: (Smiles) See, that's why I love you. Because you know that too.

What do tickets and lions got to do with it?

2010-10-02T07:34:00.000-07:00

What's "consumption vs. destruction" got to do with it?

2010-10-01T10:35:00.000-07:00

It's Friday! It's also the first day of October! What better way would there be to start off a beautiful Autumn day than a fight with Ryan?!

Oh yes, I'm being serious about that. That's how our Friday morning started.

Lately, (when we actually do spend time together), our time has been littered with countless awkward gaps of silence or bouts of fighting. The silence cuts into us gradually. Since it's not evident to Ryan, I imagine he won't notice until it starts adding up and he can see the empty space silence has filled, separating us.

When we do talk, we're fighting, and our words become switchblades we use to purposefully cut into each others' flesh, recklessly. I can't help but feel we're trying to prove to ourselves that we're still alive through this grotesque form of blood letting. So what if one of us dies?! At least we'll know we were alive before we destroyed our relationship and each other, right?! This metaphorical comparison is just that, metaphorical, but it rings true, literally, more than you'll ever know. Especially if you've ever been brave enough to enter into a committed, romantic relationship with someone.

I have this theory about relationships. Not just romantic ones but relationships in general.

The Consumption vs. Destruction Theory in Human Relationships

People are driven by two types of needs. One idea is a natural survival need; consumption. The other is a man-made, material need; destruction. The needs we choose to be driven by are based on our psyche, environment, and physical age.

Consumption, by definition, is the act of consuming. Consuming is thought to be a form of destroying, but that isn't the case at all. Consumption is necessary as a means to survive. Animals consume other animals and plants to live. From death, life is sustained. Once the animals consume, their waste fertilizes plant life so that plants can grow again. Upon the death of an animal, scavenger animals consume what's left and clear space on the planet for the next generation of plant and animal life to be born.

The cycle of consumption is a never-ending circle of life; the infinite; life feeds on life...

Destruction is to annihilate, to vanquish; to kill for the sake of killing; to do something simply for the sake of doing it. Examples of this need exhibiting itself in humanity are best seen through wars, manifest destinies, and imperialism. Humans destroy other humans and plants to gain power. Power is not a survival need. Power is an idea used to mask a fear of being unable to compete and survive in the circle of life through consumption. Destruction, fueled by power, warrants wiping out entire ethnic groups of people, (ie, Native Americans during the age of colonialism and Jewish people during the Holocaust). It is also seen through killing plant life by the masses, (ie, deforestation in South America due to commercial logging and global warming caused by the overuse of burning fossil fuels and deforestation).

When the natural circle of life is disrupted by destruction, everything dies and nothing survives.

Individually, humans approach each other and form one-on-one relationships that are driven by consumption and/or destruction. Again, they way we choose to approach this smaller scale interaction is based on psyche, environment, and physical age.

When a human relationship is formed with the need to consume, the relationship maintains a healthy, organic balance of naturally giving and taking; such as talking and listening, loving and being loved, making allowances and being allowed (AKA patience); all of these actions done to help each other survive.

A relationship that starts or becomes driven by the need to destroy, results in person-to-person battles from trying to force a relationship. The forcing comes from a fear of loss; an idea that says, It's better to have something than nothing. I consider that idea similar to another idea I'm not too keen on,; Doing something simply for the sake of doing it. It's random, pointless, and lacks meaning. When daily fighting starts and equally maintaining the balance in a relationship becomes obsolete, the relationship is eventually destroyed. And for the extremely unfortunate, lovers quarrels have been known to kill and end lives, literally and metaphoriclly speaking, because for some humans, the need for destruction and power goes beyond solely dictating a relationship.

As of this Friday, first day of October, regarding the consumption vs destruction theory and my relationship with Ryan; I survived another battle. I'm growing tired of fighting because it's unnecessary.

"Love shouldn't be hard." --Anonymous

Meanwhile, we're using the only ten minutes we have in the morning to see each other, tearing each other down, avidly; doing something simply for the sake of doing it.

I can't swallow the idea of spending the rest of my Friday, first day of October, like that.

I can't swallow the idea of spending the rest of the days that follow, like that either.

A warm bed,
well that's something.
But that alone,
just ain't enough.
-- Roll On / DNTEL ft. JENNY LEWIS

The one about the butterfly. [Enclosed: An unrelated letter.]

2010-09-30T10:21:00.000-07:00

After becoming unhealthily enamored with the book, House of Leaves this week, I put the book away in a new hiding spot in my house. I'll come back to it when I'm ready to devote more time to reading it. "Devote", isn't the right word to use though. "Brave", would be better suited to the previous sentence.

I put the book away until I'm brave enough to tackle the task of reading it from start to finish.

Out of sight, out of mind, pt. II.
(To be continued...)

This morning while Adam and I were outside in the front yard, waiting for his school bus to come, he spotted something on the ground and began jumping up and down, pointing at it. I looked down and quickly recognized it as the butterfly we saw last night. Last night it was fluttering it's wings; resting on the vines that grow along our fence line. It was alive yesterday, but this morning when we found it, it was now laying in the grass, stiff. It looked like a small, quarter-machine, novelty toy someone dropped and lost on the ground.

"What's that?! What's that?!" Adam asked me while he continued to jump up and down, almost landing on top of the dead butterfly.
I put my arm out in front of him to protect the last little bit of dignity the butterfly had, "Babe, babe! Don't step on it! It's dead..."
Adam stopped for a minute and looked at me puzzled. He matched my quietness and stopped jumping. Then he leaned down to get a closer look at the butterfly and began studying it. His inspection seemed harmless until he picked up a stick from the ground and started poking at the dead butterfly's body.
"EWWWWW! Gross!" he shouted.
I stopped him from assaulting the butterfly any further; "You're EWWW! Gross!", I said to him, laughing at his reaction. Luckily for the butterfly, Adam's school bus pulled up and saved the butterfly from mutilation.

After I got him on the bus I walked back to the dead butterfly and leaned down to study it for myself. It appeared to be in perfect health, so I couldn't imagine why it just died. There had to be a reason, right? Whatever the reason was, it was unseen to me.

There are lots of things we don't see that affect life and death on earth, I suppose.

I picked up the butterfly and moved it closer to the fence line so no one would step on it. Then I trekked my way up the stairs, back inside the house. I closed the door behind me and locked it. Then I walked over to the kitchen table and sat down. From the kitchen window, I looked down into the yard and started to think about having to explain life and death to Adam one day. He's getting older (speaking of which, his birthday is coming up on October 7th), questioning anything and everything he sees these days.

How would I explain it? What would I say about it? And how would it affect his perceptions?

I made a mental note of the butterfly's death. I thought re-telling the experience would help when I had to explain to Adam that life and death were a little more than just, "EWWW! Gross!"

with a long sigh let the hissing in
stones deformed by gentle kissing
all the closed eyes start to glisten
but it feels like someone's missing
-- Someone's Missing / MGMT

Since I was already at the kitchen table, I decided to have a bowl of Lucky Charms to start the day. While I was eating, I saw the mailman from the kitchen window. He was putting mail in our box and I and remembered that when my mom called earlier in the week, she said she mailed us something. She made a big deal about it, making it sound like something epic. I finished the cereal and walked outside to see if her mail made it yet.

I opened the box and found a letter from my mom. Usually I rip open mail that's addressed to me, immediately. I didn't with her letter though. I wasn't sure what would be inside of it. With my mother, there's no telling. I thought maybe it was a letter that would offer advice or guide me some during our transition into our new lives, apart. What could she possibly have to say, in a handwritten letter, no less?

When she called days before, I shared with her my anxieties in starting over. I confessed to her how much I loved being with Adam again full-time; how he seemed to be enjoying school and life at home with me. I told her that we loved her and missed her tremendously, despite the fact that she and I fought most of the time.

(Yesterday night...)
LIZ: I can't believe mom called just to check on us the other day. That's weird. She never does that.
PATRICK: (Laughing) She didn't call to check on us. She doesn't care about us. (Laughs again) She thinks we're abusing and neglecting your son, depriving him of having Mc Donald's every day.

Once I got up the stairs and back inside the house, I tore open the envelope.

Book-It for adults.

2010-09-29T09:56:00.000-07:00

"There are crazy twists and turns and things that you never see coming. And you really have to debrief at the end and put it back together which, I always feel is a mark of well written literature and leads to endless re-readability."

-- prophetandmistress / House of Leaves Discussion Thread

A copy of the book House of Leaves, written by POE's brother, Mark Z. Danielewski, has been in my possession for several months now. I've tried to read it like a regular book from start to finish, and have failed successfully at every attempt. [Which, I attest to honestly, has only been once since the book found it's way into my home].

I came across the copy because of Ryan, the true owner of the book. He made a point to hunt down his lent out copy when he was telling me about it and I told him I never read it. He was stunned, and once he recovered the copy, he wasted no time in passing the book on to me, and insisted that I read it as soon as possible.

RYAN: (Hands LIZ the book.)
LIZ: (Opens the book directly to the middle, stares at the page, then turns it and fingers through the the pages of the book, out of order.) The format is kinda neat. (Shuts the book and begins studying the cover.) It's pretty big...
RYAN: If you want to be a good writer you have to read too.
LIZ: Why?
RYAN: Because you have to know about other authors and other styles of writing.
LIZ: If you say so...

I didn't understand why he was pushing me to read House of Leaves so badly. [That, and, On Writing: A Memoir of The Craft, by Stephen King.] I couldn't recall ever having issues with reading in my life. I was constantly reading as a child and snatched up free pizza certificates left and right in elementary school thanks to Pizza Hut's Book-It program. Why was he so adamant on convincing me to read?

I approached the book with a questionable attitude when he told me to read it. Mainly because I couldn't see any other reason to read it except for the sole sake of reading it.

Why on earth would I do something for the sole sake of doing it?
I do what I want. [That's very post-modern of me, I believe.]

I took the copy of House of Leaves from Ryan to appease him and to have the book in my home court. In my mind, I thought if I had the copy it would be up to me to decide ultimately what to do with it. I exercised the right to do as I pleased when Ryan left, and I immediately hid the book in my house, deep in the back of a cabinet, downstairs.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Months passed by and Ryan had forgotten about the book while it continued to stay locked away in it's temporary housing. I almost forgot about it too, until a few days ago. I was at home alone, listening to an internet radio station when I heard part of a POE song. Her lyrics from the song, Haunted, jolted my memory:

There's always a way,
here in November, in this
house of leaves,
we'll pray.

I'm a huge fan of her music and heard years ago that her album, Haunted, accompanied a book. I never knew it was House of Leaves, until I was reminded of the two from hearing the song snippet. I researched my assumption for official confirmation and learned that they were, in fact, very connected.

Haunted is my favorite POE album. The style of the music is eclectic, but the main reason I love the album is because I like the twisted and dark lyrical themes. The exhibition of the themes by way of overindulging in flashbacks from youth spoke honestly to me. Sounds creepy on it's own but thanks to the sweetly feminine sound of POE, her voice serves as a night light on the dark content. And with a night light on, the dark themes are less terrifying to approach as opposed to trying to find them like unknown noises heard in the middle of the night, in pitch darkness.

Now that I knew the two pieces of artwork were connected; the music and the book; I walked downstairs to the cabinet and pulled the book out from it's solitary confinement. The cover was slightly dusty so I wiped it off and stared at it. I became distracted with the encyclopedia size of the book just as I had the first time I saw it. It wasn't merely the physical size of the book that I was concerned with anymore. Upon confirmation of the connection between Haunted and House of Leaves, I learned that the content of the book was twisted and dark too.

Haunted complements the book, but it's not going to help me find my way through the tangled confusion of ideas printed on the book's pages. I could live happier having never learned that the two pieces of art went hand in hand. Because if I still didn't know, I wouldn't feel compelled to read the book. In fact, putting the two together has become the bane of my existence over the past couple of days. [Well, at least one of the multiple banes of my existence.]

Despite having an actual interest in reading the book, now I am afraid to read it.

What if I get lost in the Olympic sized book? What if it swallows me up whole and I'm never seen or heard from again? What if it turned me against writing?

Last and most importantly;
What if I read it and discover it was a complete waste of time?

But I'm already wasting my time on it.

Too bad there isn't a Book-It program for adults.

By the way
when the landlord came today
he measured everything.
I knew he'd get it wrong
but I just played along
because I was hoping
that he would fix it all.
-- 5 &1/2 Minute Hallway / POE

One Hundred Billion

2010-09-27T23:35:00.000-07:00

"As processions fade, new hearts doubt."
-- Walking Through the Door / FUTURE ISLANDS

Starting over for the one hundred billionth time in your life is never easy. It becomes repetitive when you're constantly changing your plans. It's true what they say; The more things change, the more things stay the same. I just never thought I fell into that cliche, though here I am, starting over again. It's hard not to feel disgusted because I feel like I should already be past this phase in my life, at my age.

I would love to know what stability feels like, at least once before I die.

The presence of stability would be a true change in my life. There's no telling how I would react if it found it's way into my every day. Chances are, my first reaction would be to run in the other direction because stability is a stranger to me, [stranger danger]. But after I was introduced to it and became familiar with it, I'd do my best to keep it a constant in my life.

If I liked it that is, because who's to say I'd like stability once I got to know it?

One hundred billion possibilities abound when you're starting your life over for the one hundred billionth time. I'm hoping to discover only one of those possibilities though.

Past four years & now.

2010-09-27T11:58:00.000-07:00

Into the distance
a ribbon of black
stretched to the point
of no turning back
a flight of fancy
on a wind swept field
standing alone
my sense reeled.
--Learning to Fly / PINK FLOYD

It's been exactly one week today since my mother moved to back to Oklahoma for good.

Last Monday when Adam and I said goodbye to her, it wasn't as lengthy and drawn out like I thought it would be. She was holding tears back, I could tell, as we pulled out of her driveway and waved goodbye. The moment I turned my head away from her and looked out at the road in front of me, I immediately felt different.

The first day without her was breezy, though the different feeling hung around. I tried to shrug it off but I couldn't. I tried to explain how I felt to Ryan, hoping it would make me feel better. He looked at me like I was crazy when I admitted to him that there was a part of me that missed my mother. I explained to him that I felt overwhelmed with the idea of knowing that I couldn't rely on my mother, daily anymore, like I had for... the past four years. [NOTE: It was at that exact moment when I realized how long she'd been with me, every single day.] Truthfully, I knew Ryan wouldn't relate to what I was feeling because I couldn't clearly define or understand it myself. So instead of trying to get answers and empathy from him, I turned my investigation inside out, directing my questions inward this time.

The answer I was searching for finally came to me four days after my mother moved out.

See, I never expected to live with or have my mother live with me until I was 27. It was a series of bad luck circumstances and tragic situations that bonded us together for.... the past four years. It started with my separation from AJ in 2006 and official divorce from him in 2007. Recession kept my mother and I economically bound together in 2008. March 2009 brought about the loss of my father, then losing a loved one to homicide months later in May. The failure of yet another toxic, romantic relationship left a post atom bomb fallout over my life at the end of August 2009. My mother was convinced I could not handle the stress and take care of Adam at the same time. She was right, I couldn't back then.

I regained some of my sanity in the winter of 2009 and decided to move to Texas with my brother, Patrick. Just before I moved, my grandfather, my mother's father, had a stroke and passed away on December 8, 2009. Coincidentally, my father would have been celebrating his 60th birthday on that day if he had lived.

My mother stayed at my side as we went through the past four years, together.

The emotional climax of all the events that took place happened a few moments after we received news about the homicide. I went outside and sat down on a curb in the parking lot of the hotel we were staying at and lit a cigarette. [We were on what was supposed to be a vacation when we were notified.] I remember watching other families coming in and out of the hotel's entrance and noticing two children in particular, skipping closely behind their parents. I wondered what on earth would compel them to want to skip in a world littered with ugliness. Then my observation was interrupted with a sound I had not heard since I was a little girl.

It was the sound of an ice cream truck melody.

I can remember having an instinctual need to get up and run after it, but I didn't. Instead, I put out my cigarette and lit another. I felt my eyes start to water when I took the first drag off of it. At that point I'd grown accustomed to crying, so I wasn‘t startled by the feeling of tears forming in my eyes. Tears and chain smoking were the norm in my world, not skipping or chasing after ice cream trucks. I stayed cemented to the concrete curb as the ice cream truck drove away and it‘s music faded.

The random resurfacing of one of my favorite childhood memories at that moment in my life, I took as a symbol of the end of anything sweet and innocent ever entering or passing through my world, again.

I had forgotten most of that ice cream truck memory until this past Saturday, around 6pm. I was standing outside on the balcony of my house with Ryan when our conversation was interrupted with a familiar tune.

I looked at his face, slightly confused as to the sound’s source, “Do you hear that?” I asked him.
Our conversation died as we stood in silence, trying to define the sound. He replied, “Yeah…it sounds like…”
“It sounds like ’Happy Birthday’,” I quickly interjected.
He agreed, “It is ‘Happy Birthday’. Weird.”
“Where is it coming from?!” I asked, and before he even had a chance to answer, I started walking back and forth on the balcony, looking down into the neighborhood, trying to find it. The recognizable sound grew louder and clearer as it slowly passed by on the street in front of my house.

It was a man on a bicycle, selling ice cream.

When I heard the song playing I felt comforted. It was like gently waking up from a deep sleep. I thought the tune was appropriate too, because it was time to celebrate a birth, the start of my new life officially beginning with the past four years behind me.

“I feel a lot better suddenly”, I confessed to Ryan, smiling at him.
“Good”, he replied, and he leaned in to hug me.

I don’t know how it’s going to be without my mother in my life everyday. Looking back on it now, it’s hard to fathom everything that’s happened in the past four years. My heart literally aches when I think about it. But after realizing the depths of my experience, knowing that I made it through what I thought would never end, and finally moving on, I feel like I can face what ever may come today and every day after today..

without my mother and without my father.

The past four years is over and its time to start living on my own now.

"Nope."

2010-09-23T08:31:00.000-07:00

Yesterday afternoon, Patrick and I decided to stop at a McDonald's for lunch. The drive-thru line was backed-up so we parked and chose to order inside. It was the same dilemma and customers were lined up at two separate open registers. I wasn't sure what I wanted to order, so I decided to go to the ladies room to wash my hands and think of what to order.

I walked into the bathroom, pulled the tab on the liquid soap dispenser and began to wash my hands. After I was done rinsing the lather away, I turned around and put my wet hands underneath the air dryer. It turned on automatically and I let the warm air current do it's job, blowing out and over my hands as I stood in front of a full length mirror that hung on the bathroom wall. I realized this was the first McDonald's I'd been to that had this type of mirror in the ladies room.

Placing a full length mirror in a fast food restaurant seemed like a bad marketing choice, I theorized, as I hypothesized that since women would have the opportunity to check out their bodies in the restaurant, they may possibly choose to eat less as a result. Wouldn't that equal less sales? Or maybe it would convince them to order the over-priced salad/wrap option?

My ridiculously too deep thought was interrupted by the silence the dryer left when it stopped. Then I turned around to open the door and walk out of the restroom. Before I got the door open, I felt my nose start to run. I let go of the door handle and walked over to one of the bathroom stalls and quickly grabbed some toilet paper, blew my nose, and tossed the trash in the toilet. I raised my foot up and pushed the flush handle down with my shoe. When I put my foot back on the ground and looked up, I noticed I wasn't alone.

A little brunette girl, probably around nine or ten years old, was standing in the bathroom, staring at me. I smiled at her and she smiled back at me. She slowly sauntered toward the sink and put her hands under the automatic water faucet and began washing. As I walked past her, I could see in my peripheral vision that she was still staring at me.

"Aren't you going to wash your hands!?!?" she asked, genuinely concerned.

It seemed like a strange question to ask until I realized that she probably assumed I had just used the toilet when she walked in on me flushing. I tried to think of the right answer to give her. Do I stop and wash my hands again to appease her? No, I'm ready to order now... The little girl was looking at me with big brown eyes, begging me to answer the question. My answer?

"Nope."

Her smile turned into a large frown and she looked at me like I just committed a felony. It was hilariously awkward. I didn't know what to do except walk away.

The Waking Dream

2010-09-21T23:39:00.000-07:00

When I opened my eyes this morning, the sun hadn't risen yet which masked everything behind the darkness in the bedroom. I wondered to myself, as I laid on my back in bed, staring at the ceiling, "Why on earth am I awake right now? I should go back to sleep." Before I could close my eyes to entertain the idea of catching a few more minutes of sleep, I felt something extremely warm push against the side of my rib cage, forcefully. Though I knew what it was, or rather, who it was, I turned my head and smiled to greet the force.

The force was Adam <3.

He was still asleep as he pushed his tiny fat feet against my body. I rolled over on my side to give him some more room to move in bed. The moonlight coming through the muslin curtains that cover our bedroom window cast enough light so that I could see just the outline of his silhouette. I stared at him quietly and got lost in a flashback from years before, when his dad, AJ, and I separated.

Adam was barely two years old in 2006 when, just a few months before we parted ways, AJ and I finally got him to sleep in a toddler bed in his own bedroom. When AJ moved out, all of the hard work we put into helping Adam learn to put himself to sleep went out the window and it didn't take long for Adam to find his way back into bed with me. I didn't object because I was still adjusting to not sleeping next AJ, so having Adam next to me was comforting. This was despite the fact that he was a bed hog and insisted on sleeping right behind me, alternating with attempts to push me out of the bed, every night.

It's been like that ever since 2006. I never got Adam adjusted to sleeping on his own again.

My mother was also a constant at-my-side, after my divorce from AJ became final in 2007. Adam and I moved in with her and she began helping me care for him as I searched my soul to find the strength to get past the depression and anxiety that overtakes a suddenly divorced, 23 year old, single mother.She insisted on trying to offer me comfort in the only way she knew how, which was through a series of ego stroking phrases like, "You're so much better than him! You're much better off without that loser!". Those phrases I clung to and started to believe in enticed me to allow my anger and ego to over-inflate. Then days later she would burst my bubbling new confidence through relentless hours of twisted, tough love talk; "You're not a good mother! You can't do this on your own!" This became a cycle that continued for the rest of the time I lived with her. It was confusing, heartbreaking, and frustrating.

With Adam pushing on me all night, along with riding my mother's behavioral/mood rollercoaster death rides all day, I wasn't sure who to point fingers at as to the reason I wasn't sleeping or eating anymore. Truthfully it wasn't either of them that caused the stress that began to consume my life.

It was just life.

Not even so much life, but it was me, and my disdain for the direction my life had turned. I didn't want to be 23 years old, divorced,and forced to take care of so much responsibility on my own. I didn't want to be with AJ anymore either. I was convinced that no one would ever want to be with me again because now I was tainted with a fly-by-night, unholy, matrimony that took a nose dive crash into the surface of rock hard earth. I was so disconnected with reality at that point, I wasn't sure if I survived the humiliation of my divorce crash. Top that with the not sleeping and not eating, and I may as well have been dead. I looked like a zombie that wandered off the set of Night of The Living Dead. My (so-called) friends back then made no secret to gossip about my current D.O.A status to anyone who would listen.

I remember reading online once; I was being labeled as a terrible parent according to my, "friends". The line that stands out mostly from that terrorist attack on my motherhood was, "Be thankful for your sun! He's the only one you got!" I remember being torn between humor and betrayal; laughing at the misspelling of what should have been the word, "son", and fighting back tears because my son was and always will be the one subject that NO ONE is allowed to speak ill upon.

So my husband jumped ship on me and the people I called, "friends" did the same. Luckily, I managed to weather the high seas of drama. The image of a better life and my faith that the high tide of negativity in my life would eventually subside helped me get through all of the loss. And Adam. I wanted to get my life back so I could be there for him and make his life better.

I reached shoreline in 2008 and thought the worst was over. But instead of being stranded on an awesome island like Gilligan's, I found myself stranded on an island that was littered with more poor choices I made, along with my family's fate of experiencing death, three-fold, in 2009. 2009 made 2006 and 2007 seem like child play's in the realm of tragedy and disappointment. Again, I pressed on, and though 2009 was literally like living hell on earth, I learned how to be stronger because of what I had already lived through. I bounced back faster than I ever had before.

After escaping the living hell on earth, I resurfaced in 2010 on a new island known as, "Texas". Life in Texas is far from perfect but I can definitely say that it's on the up-and-up these days. It takes a lot of living in order to learn, and I know that from experience. It's taken this much time and this much bullshit for me to realize that I was the reason for much of the strife in my life. Since January 1, 2010, I vowed never to let myself become a willing part of the cycle of negativity.

All of these flashbacks took just a few seconds to play out in my memory as I woke up on this morning. Adam brought me back to present day, in bed, when he raised his hands up and traced his little fingers over the outline of my face; touching my eyelids, my nose, and over my fuller parts of my lips. He giggled and smiled, though still sleeping soundly. I felt truly lucky to have lived through the past few years to be here now, awake, to feel Adam's warm feet and hands touching me.

My memory suddenly flashed back to my dad. I wondered if he ever had moments like these with me. Moments that he kept safe, close to him in his heart, in his memory for all of his life. I wished he could have been there waking up to see Adam and to share that moment with us, but it was a moment meant only for Adam and me.

It dawned on me as the sun began to slowly rise, that I stayed awake just to watch Adam sleep. I laid next to him, on my side, completely still, and watched him as he shyly smiled, eyes closed, dreaming freely and happily. I leaned in carefully and smelled his hair. The sun rose and promised us this time together, even if was only for that moment. I saw more than just my child sleeping. I saw our past, our present, and our future, in all of it's entirety. It was the moment I survived my entire life to experience.

It was the waking dream I was born to see.

If you were here
I know that you would
Truly be amazed
At what's become of what you made
If you were here
You would know how I treasured every day
How every single word you spoke
Echoes in me like a memory of hope

Now that I'm here
I hear you
And wonder if maybe you can hear yourself
Ringing in me
Now that you're somewhere else
Because I hear your strange music
Gentle and true
Singing inside me
With the best parts of you
I hope somewhere you hear them too
Now that I'm here
I love you

I miss you but it's okay
You can go now.
-- If You Were Here/POE

The Store Room

2010-09-15T19:05:00.000-07:00

Earlier today, when I walked down to the store room to do requisition, I noticed the store room manager, Enrique, wasn't there. He left the door to the store room unlocked so I figured he would be back soon. I let myself in and began to load up items per my manager's request. Roughly ten minutes later, I heard a voice shout in my direction.

"Hey girl! What do you think you're doing?!", the voice questioned. It was Enrique. "You trying to get me fired?!" he jokingly asked me.
"No, no, no!" I replied, "I'm sorry, I'm just doing what my manager told me I had to do, NOW."
"I gotcha, I gotcha. I just don't want either of us to get in trouble", he explained, "or anyone thinking that you're in here stealing or whatever."
"Oh yeah, there's so much awesome shit in here to steal!" I laughed, "Even though I'm like, totally poor, my parents taught me never to steal."
Enrique looked at me like he missed a key part of the conversation, and he scratched his head, "You used to be poor?" "
"Umm...yeah. It' not like I'm super rich today either", I explained, as I continued to load boxes onto a push cart. "Most of my money in the past six months has been spent on my son and the cost to relocate."
"Relocate?" he asked.
I laughed, "Yeah, I thought I told you this already, I'm not originally from here."
"Well where are you from then?" he asked me.
"Oklahoma." I said, and I began to walk down one of the aisles in the store room, in search of espresso beans.
At the opposite end of the aisle, I heard him shout, "Why did you move?"

My spine began to freeze instantly, starting from the small of my back, up to my cerebellum. The sub-zero reaction forced me to stop, dead in my tracks. I hate when people ask me this question because I hate explaining the reasons I had to move and I hate anticipating people's reactions when I tell them. I struggled to take a deep breath and took solace in the fact that no one had asked me this question in a while. I let the breath out and began to defrost.

Muscle memory returned to my legs and I turned around and blurted out, "MyDadDiedLastYearAndILostAFamilyMemberToHomicideI'vePrettyMuchBeenOnTheRunSince."

Enrique's face froze for a moment and I waited for him to retreat back to his office. Instead of being startled he asked even more questions. "So did you kill your dad?" he asked. We both looked at each other and laughed, half nervously and half facetiously.

"Of course not", I explained, still laughing slightly.
"That doesn't explain why you think you're poor though", he said.
"I'm just not rich, that's all", I told him.
"What, your man don't take care of you?" he asked.
I was appalled at his question. "No way! I don't want anyone to take care of me!"
"Why", he asked.
I was still in search of the espresso beans as I explained to him, "Because I don't want to owe anyone anything."
I finally found the beans, picked up the box on my own, and loaded it onto the push cart. I grabbed the requisition list and handed it to Enrique.
He shrugged his shoulders, "I guess that makes sense", and he signed the list and placed the carbon copy on top of the boxes on the push cart. I could tell he wasn't going to let me leave the store room without asking one more question. "Hey, why don't you let me help you?"
"I'll make it", I said, and I smiled at him.

I began to push the huge load of boxes on the cart, past him, by myself. I got out into the hallway and out of no where, I felt tears begin to form in my eyes. It's been a while since I've cried. I wish I knew why I cried, but I honestly can't explain it. It could have been a mixture of things. The mention of relocation...or death...

The only thing I felt sure about as I wiped the tears off of my cheeks and continued to push the heavy cart full of things that didn't belong to me, was that I didn't want to do that for the rest of my life.

Especially alone.

Divine intervention
Always my intention
I've been looking for something
I've always wanted
But was never mine
Now I've seen that something
Just out of reach
Glowing
Very Holy grail
Mother of Pearl
I wouldn't trade you
For the whole world.
--Mother of Pearl/ROXY MUSIC

Album Review - Tonight Tonight! / So Far, By Far (EP ) (2010)

2010-09-07T09:49:00.000-07:00

Tonight Tonight!
SO FAR, BY FAR (EP)
(2010)

RATING:
<3 <3 <3 <3

You know that feeling you get when you arrive fashionably late and you walk into a packed rock club on a Saturday night? The energy you feel from hearing shrieking electric guitars and pounding bass lines, mixed with heavy, heartfelt vocals, and drums that beat with a vengeance. The combination of rich sounds makes your entire body shake and you ask the guy at the door, "Who's playing?"

His reply?
"That's Tonight Tonight!"

When you download and listen to the first track (Take My Chances) off Tonight Tonight!'s sophomore album, So Far, By Far, that's the feeling you get; like you caught a fresh, young rock band, mid-set; playing LIVE. At first listen, So Far, By Far could be mistaken for just another power-pop rock band album, but that isn't the case at all. First of all, the band throws out the traditional pop conventions of using boring, repetitive hook lines to gain their listeners interest. The lyrics on Tonight Tonight!'s latest album are genuine and real, communicated through vocalist Jeff Whittaker. The sincerity in his voice as he belts out each song is very reminiscent of the sound of Tom Delonge's vocals, as Whittaker wails, "Take me as I am..."(Doorstep). Whittaker's hauntingly emotional vocals hang in your memory, along with the combined musical talents of Kyle Burkett, Lead Guitar; Matt Mc Coy, Bass; and David Tapp, Drums. The band takes us on a short story vacation of new sound locales and cryptic lyrical islands from one track to the next on So Far, By Far.

For music fans today, this is a breath of oxygen laden air and definitely worth the 5.00 cost to download.

You can also check out Tonight Tonight! LIVE September 10, 2010 @ The Curtain Club.

**So Far, By Far is available for download NOW on iTunes and @ amazon.com***

Every struck gold and better off dead moment

2010-09-03T02:19:00.000-07:00

My mind never actually rests.

It's true. I'm constantly thinking, constantly trying to connect and put things together, though in no particular order. It's a catch twenty-two. In one sense my overactive mind spawns creativity for my writing and other artwork. On the other hand, my over-analyzation is the root of any negativity that filters its way into my life, because I dwell over the worst things way too much.

I'm pretty sure this is the plot line to every artistic tragedy; the gift, the curse.

Today, my mind was left in a state of purgatory that stemmed from talking to customers today at work. I noticed a common theme in our conversations. The reoccurring theme came from women talking about their constant struggles in their relationships with men.

The first woman came in and ordered her usual; A grande iced coffee with non-fat milk. She seemed content but I asked her how she was doing anyway. She replied, "CRAPPY. Me and my boyfriend just got into a huge fight right before I came into work!" Before I had time to respond to her answer, she interjected into the explanation of the fight with her boyfriend and why it made her so upset.

"He's always looking for a reason to fight because he's in law school! I swear, he's just looking for reasons to disagree with me, constantly!" the woman explained bluntly.
"Oh, he's in law school? Is he going to Texas Wesleyan?" I asked. (I had to ask because Ryan attends the same school.)
She paused for a moment, slightly surprised that I knew the name of her boyfriend's school. "Yes, it's Wesleyan," she said.
I changed the subject and shifted the focus back to her situation. "Maybe this is just a rough patch you guys are going through?" I suggested.
"No, no, no, that's not it," she replied, "This isn't the first time this has happened. Like I said, he's fighting with me constantly. I just don't want to deal with it anymore...I mean, I know every couple fights but surely there's some balance between the fighting and the peace, right?"
I stood behind the coffee bar, silent for a moment as I pondered what the woman just proposed to me; Is she right? Is there a balance between fighting and peace that must be achieved in order to share a healthy relationship with someone? Hmmmmm.....
The woman snapped me back into her realm with the sound of a question; "What do you think?", she asked.
"I think I agree with you. It's funny, I never really thought about it like that before but I think you're right," I confessed.

Every single one of her shiny, bare teeth flashed me, coming out from their usual hiding place from behind her lips. She was smiling and I couldn't tell if she was doing it because I agreed with her theory or if she was just happy that I didn't argue with her. Either way, she left the coffee house with a little more spring in her step and I was happy for her.

I didn't have more than a few moments to explore the new found theory the first woman introduced me to, before the second disgruntled woman came into the store. The second woman wasn't alone though. She brought a female co-worker with her. They stood across from my register like a dynamic, superhero duo; arms crossed over their chests. From their posture, I knew these two women were on a mission.

WOMAN #2: (To her Female Co-Worker) Ugh! Thanks for coming with me. I didn't even really want coffee, I just wanted to bitch.
FEMALE CO-WORKER: (Smiling) No problem.
LIZ: Hi! Welcome to Starbucks! What can I get started for you ladies today?!
WOMAN #2: Can I get a tall, extra hot, white mocha?
LIZ: Sure! Can I get you anything else? (Looks at the Female Co-Worker)
FEMALE CO-WORKER: Oh...I don't want anything. I'm just here for moral support.
LIZ: (Laughs) Gotcha. (To Woman #2) Okay, your total is $3.56.

Woman #2 hands Liz a five dollar bill and Liz makes change from her register. She hands it to Woman #2.

LIZ: Okay, I'll have your drink out in just a few minutes.
WOMAN #2: Thanks!

Liz begins steaming milk on the espresso machine as the two women talk over the sounds.

WOMAN #2: Oh I just can't believe him! I mean, he was just acting like such a dick today! Even when we left the office earlier, he was like, "Where are you going?" and I was like, "If you want to know why don't you come with us?" He said, "Uh no. That's okay."
FEMALE CO-WORKER: Why do you think he was acting like such a dick today?
WOMAN #2: Ugh! I don't know and I don't even really care anymore.

Liz hands Woman #2 her drink.

LIZ: Are you having guy problems today?
WOMAN #2: Ugh! Sort of. Like work guy problems. The guy I'm having issues with is my boss.
LIZ: Ah...I gotcha. It's kind of funny because the girl that just came in before you was having guy problems today too. (Pauses) You know, I've never worked with male bosses except for once and that guy was pretty much an asshole most of the time. That's why I like working for women. They seem to understand and empathize a little more.
WOMAN #2: Yeah, but at the same time it depends on if the guy is single or not. A guy who's married or has kids understands what it's like for women. A single guy though, he totally wouldn't get it.
LIZ: Yeah, that makes sense. I guess you're right.

Liz begins rinsing dishes in a sink as the ladies continue to talk.

WOMAN #2: (To Liz) This drink is great! Thanks!
LIZ: You're welcome! You ladies have a nice day!
WOMAN #2 and FEMALE CO-WORKER: You too!

The two women walk out of the coffee house, smiling.

After the conversations I had this afternoon, I started to wonder if there was something in the weather that was causing men to act like assholes. I chalked it up to the rain and barely cooler temperatures we were experiencing. That explanation suited me for about... ten minutes. Once the ten minutes was over, I knew there was more to the back-to-back mention of constant struggles.

There's a reason this theme is recycling in my life. Now I just have to figure out why, I thought to myself.

I examined the feelings I felt as I listened to these women. I felt lucky because I wasn't involved in a relationship that consisted of me arguing with my significant other 24/7. That's been my routine for so long. It was nice to know I didn't and I wasn't living like that now. Don't get me wrong, I know that peace can't exist without conflict. However, there's a balance to it all and somehow I finally found a way to live in that balance's realm. I'm forever grateful for my life today and I appreciate everything that brought me here.

Every struck gold and better-off-dead moment in my life.

A boy like me
would never be seen
fighting for peace.
I want total chaos
and a holiday home
[NOT] in the east.
-- A Boy Like Me/PATRICK WOLF

"Just hold on." (The Reprise)

2010-09-02T00:27:00.000-07:00

Word has it on the wire
That you don't who you are
Well if you could jack into my brain
You'd know exactly what you mean here
Mothers are trails on stars in the night
Fathers are black holes that suck up the light
That's the memory I filed on the fringe
Along with the memory of the pain you lived in...
Hello?
--HELLO/Poe

I swear on my life I haven't forgotten about anyone or anything.

To use the word, busy, is an understatement about life these days. Particularly, I'm referring to my own life and the lives intertwined around mine. I haven't finished the first draft of my script on the time schedule I hoped to have it done. Despite that, I haven't stopped working on it. I'm taking some time to pay attention to the interesting details instead of just throwing simple and generic dialogue into the mouths of the complicated characters I've created. Even with taking my time in order to do the complexity of the script some justice, I'm still on a tight schedule to complete it and I can't wait to share it with the rest of the world.

Speaking of tight schedules, making sure Adam gets to and from school everyday keeps both his and my sleeping patterns on a route toward some stability. This is huge for us because it's been over a year since we've slept well. Sleep is crucial for me and him, as it keeps us from getting moody and overly emotional with each other. When we're both rested and on our "A" game, all is right in our world.

Then there's work...
Work, work, work.

I actually like working at Starbucks and working band promos because I love embellishing my free time in both of those worlds. Working within the coffee and music industry doesn't feel like work to me. Of course juggling the two gets stressful sometimes, but I feel pretty lucky to have found places in both of these fields where I can cultivate my creativity, network, and get paid for it.

When Adam isn't in school and I'm not working, he and I have doing things together to keep our relationship strong. I could go on and on about how crappy last year was, but I won't. I will, however, acknowledge that even during our most devastating year, (AKA 2009), Adam was braver and more patient than I ever was. While I tried to cope with all of the loss back then, he never abandoned me and we weathered the worst together, side-by-side. He's my world and I don't ever want to take our time for granted. This is why I spend ALL of my free time with him.

His tremendous spirit and pure heart inspire me to be a better person and a stronger woman, everyday.

Then there's Ryan.

Ryan is one of the greatest people I've come to know in my twenty-seven years on this planet. He is sincere, loving, courageous, patient, kind, and genuine. We both have hectic schedules we work around in order to keep our lives in sync. This past month was our most trying because we didn't see each other as often as we would've liked. Nevertheless, we're managing to make our relationship work despite our recent financial and time constraints. I should also mention that Ryan is amazing because he doesn't mind sharing his time with me, with Adam also. That's a rarity to find; a man who loves and accepts both you and your child.

I've finally found the one [who loves my soul and] whom my soul loves...<3

I realize that it seems like I've left several important pieces of my life out of my schedule lately, but I swear it isn't because I've forgotten about anyone or anything, or that it's because I don't care. I think about everyone and everything on a daily basis. I miss my friends and I miss my free, solitary time. But when I imagine my life three years from now, after I've finished my first full length script and made a name for myself within the art world, I plan to take everyone and everything with me on the success ride to the top. This gap in communication won't last forever and once it's over, the end product will not be in vain.

In fact, it will be worth it.

Now I understand what Ryan said to me last week...

Just hold on.

I DO love everyone and care about everything around me. These days where I seem absent won't last forever.

I haven't forgotten.
That I can promise, fully.

All of the ink that was bled from your hands
Has painted a picture that she understands
It's amazing

The voice of my father still loud as before
It used to scare me but not anymore
It's a maze.

-- AMAZED/Poe

"Just hold on."

2010-08-24T23:38:00.000-07:00

(On the phone tonight....)

RYAN: I don't know, I just feel like you don't want to see me anymore.
LIZ: Of course I want to see you! Why would you think that?
RYAN: I don't know, it just seems like you're getting discouraged lately.
LIZ: Well yeah, I have been feeling discouraged because I haven't really seen you in the past two weeks.
RYAN: Well I'm trying to fix that!
LIZ: I'm not telling you that because I'm trying to place blame on you or because I want you to "fix it". I'm just trying to explain to you what I'm feeling.
RYAN: Well just promise me that no matter what, we won't let our bullshit get in the way of us being together.
LIZ: Okay.
RYAN: Just hold on. It won't be that much longer.

Really?? You want me to wait??? For...how long?
That was my mind's reaction to what Ryan said to me tonight on the phone. Of course I didn't verbally respond to him in that facetious manner. I realize it's not his fault that I've been "holding on", my entire life and I've retired my "holding on", capabilities. I know he's the perfect person for me because if he wasn't, I would've laughed loudly in his ear when he asked me to, "Hold on".

Let's be honest though. First of all, what does that even mean; when someone asks you to, "hold on"? In my deeply scarred memory, "hold on", means to wait. Okay...I can agree to wait, but wait for what? I don't foresee my life or Ryan's life becoming any less busy in the future, especially within the next few years ahead of us. I plan to work on my script and see it to its completion. In the meantime I plan to continue pursuing my other artistic interests and helping others promote their artwork.

As for Ryan...well, I'm not exactly sure what Ryan's up to or where his heart is regarding his personal goals in life. I have an idea, but Ryan operates differently than I do. For example, Ryan absolutely detests working in Dallas. Mainly because of the traffic, partly because of the area he works and the social atmosphere. His daily recounts upon his commute to and from work could be turned into a book titled, 101Ways to [Luckily] Escape Your Own Death by Ryan R.

So with all of that said, he vowed that his next job would NOT be located in Dallas--Unless...
Unless it paid an enormous amount of money.

That's where he and I are different. Because if I was truly unhappy with what I was doing and where I was, I would not repeat the same action or remain in the same place that led me to that unhappiness. Above and beyond anything else; especially for the sake of making money. Maybe that's where the fallacy lies?

Get it? Where the fallacy lies?

Because we don't share common ideas about happiness, it's hard for me to gauge his next move. His ideas are unfamiliar to me and I can't predict his route at all. I don't know where he is exactly in his life and I don't know where he's going. Combine the unknown with my busy, busy life and what do you get?

Yeah, I don't know either.

Hold on.

Okay..
But for what and how long?

I know.my love,
this is not the only story you can tell.
This pain won't last forever.
There's only two more years,
so hold on.
--Two More Years/BLOC PARTY

Love's first day in the real world.

2010-08-24T09:41:00.000-07:00

Since Adam and I moved to Texas this year and started our life over, its been stressful and wonderful. Adam is integral to my sanity and he's aware of that, even though he's 5 years old. He knows exactly how to evoke every range of emotion from me, positive and negative. When I'm feeling depressed he picks up on it immediately and does something ridiculous; a funny face or a random dance; to make me laugh and smile again. If he sees me crying, he sits down and holds me. It's no surprise that he expects the same from me, especially if he's bored or restless. If I'm unsuccessful at my attempts to alleviate and diffuse his stress level, he takes out his frustrations on me, and we suffer together.

This summer was our transitioning period from Oklahoma to Texas. It was also the first summer that Adam wasn't involved in a summer school program. He hated every minute of not having anything to do this season. He was irritated with me because I wasn't holding up my end of our promise to take care of each other. I've been working non-stop since we moved and haven't given him the extra time he needed this summer. Six months since we first got to Texas, we've begun to settle into our new home, and I finally found a school for Adam to attend.

He began his first day of kindergarten this morning. It was hard for me to say goodbye and leave him at his new school. Adam was quite the opposite, and waved goodbye quickly, then ran directly over to his chair at the table to play with the Play-Doh his teacher set out for him. I realize I will see him later today after I get home from work, but I'm always anxious when he's not with me or a family member. He is the most important and fragile piece of my life's puzzle, my first reason for existence, and the only person in the world with whom I share a pure, unconditional love. Because of that, it's no wonder why my emotions are on eggshells when we're apart.

Even with the anxiety, I feel a sense of relief because he's back on track in his pursuit of happiness. I don't have to worry that's he's sitting at home, bored to tears while I'm at work. Also, with the extra time alone, I can continue working on my script and not feel so guilty about it. Everything is close to reaching a balance now, and I'm ecstatic about the pieces of our life falling together, in a positive place.

Still, there's no way to prepare for the conflicting emotions of emptiness and completeness that you feel on your love's first day in the real world, without you.

<3

My answer: Nothing AND Everything.

2010-08-23T21:46:00.000-07:00

I should explain that things have changed since I got back from Oklahoma last week. I knew it would happen and I even prepared my co-workers at Starbucks. They individually and repeatedly asked why I was taking a week off from work. "You're not trying to quit are you?!" my co-workers wanted to know.

"No, no, its nothing like that. I'm going on a journey of sorts", I explained, "All I know is that I will probably come back with a newly found knowledge. Chances are I'll probably be a little different. I'll still be the same person, just changed."

Everyone at work agreed that this journey would be incredible, including my boss. In fact, my amazing boss was the one who switched my work schedule around to cater to the days I requested off. Ryan was in my corner too, much to my surprise. "Do your thing," he said to me before I left town, "I'll still be here," he reassured me.

So I left last week with a clear mind.
I returned with something else.

The first night I got back, as I sat on the balcony of my house, immersed in the humid air that lounged around lazily, I felt something I'd never felt before.

I felt sure.

The truth is, I didn't expect to come back to Texas feeling as different as I do right now. Careful examination upon my psyche from before I left versus my psyche after I got home, I can see how I'm different; according to myself and according to everyone else. My priorities, my dreams, my happiness; all of the things that make up the core of a person's being; all of those things have been re-evaluated and redefined within me.

I've come to terms with the fact that my former self has passed and I'm a new person these days. I've come to terms with it, but I'm not sure if my everyone else has yet. Since I've been home everyone around me keeps asking the same question, "Are you okay?"

"Of course I'm okay", I reassure them, then ask, "Why wouldn't I be?"
"I don't know. You're just not talking as much as you usually do", they say.
"I'm fine. I'm just preoccupied", I explain.

The feelings of confidence in what I'm doing with my life, mixed with the ability and the opportunity to see all of my plans become realized; it's all I can think of now. Maybe I was easily distracted in the past and that's why people aren't used to me being as focused as I am today? I don't know, but I do know for sure that-that's not the case today. During the Week of Seclusion, I surprised myself with how much I enjoyed leaving the rest of the world to write. I found absolute comfort in the smooth current, the smooth flow of thought turned to written words on paper. Absolute comfort is something I've never found in my life.

I liked writing before, but after last week, I fell in love with it.

Suddenly nothing matters to me the same as it did before, (with the exception of Adam). The thought of finishing my script has literally possessed my entire being and finishing it has become my life's supreme purpose now. But every time someone asks me, "What's wrong with you?", I have to question my new found purpose in life and ask myself, "Is there something wrong with me?"

Who's right and who's wrong in these questions?

I don't have the answers and even if it makes me appear entirely wrong in others' eyes, I don't care if I'm the person who seems wrong. I don't care because I've never felt more sure about my purpose in life. I think the more appropriate question to ask would be, "What's the cost you're willing to pay to witness your dreams become your reality?"

My answer:
Nothing AND everything.

Oh comely,
I will be with you when you lose your breath,
chasing the only meaningful memory
you thought you had left.
With some pretty bright and bubbly
terrible scene ,
that was doing her thing...
It isn't as pretty as you'd like to guess.
-- Oh Comely/NEUTRAL MILK HOTEL

Day 3 : Speak to Me

2010-08-19T21:12:00.000-07:00

The Week of Seclusion came to its ending this evening. Though I was only able to spend three solid days writing, (the other two days were spent on the road), I accomplished quite a bit of work for the script. I was hoping to have the first draft ready by tomorrow, but now, I don't think I want to finish it just yet. It's not because I'm being lazy and I don't want to write. It's more complicated than that.

This week by myself wasn't spent entirely on my own. I spent the majority of my time with the characters in the script. I learned about their histories and personalities. I became engrossed in every single detail they shared with me. They allowed me to inquire about anything and everything; their likes and their dislikes, their sex-lives, their dreams...their hopes and their fears, favorite restaurants, their fetishes and their secrets. Nothing was too personal or too private for them to divulge.

The characters spoke to me.

I tried to do this a few months ago, interview style. The characters obliged me and answered all of my questions, exactly. When I stacked up all of the recorded interviews and began to read them, their answers sounded...scripted. That's not what I was after at all. So I discarded the interviews and began to wonder if the characters truly wanted their story told. I took a break from the idea of writing their experiences because honestly, I had no idea what they were trying to tell me about themselves or what they had been through.

How could I translate if I was unable to understand?

All of that was changed this week. I formed a bond with these individuals and made a pact with them. Now I have a commitment to help communicate and share their tales of adventures (and misadventures) through dialogue. I decided to intertwine their stories, making them one. Thankfully the characters have agreed to share their experiences using performance as a medium.

Even though it wasn't finished today, I expect to have the first draft of the script finished on September 1st, 2010. Truthfully, I don't have a clear plan on what to do with the script after it's written, but I'm excited to see what may happen when I get there.

The One about ELO and the McAllisters.

2010-08-18T15:41:00.000-07:00

Day #2 isn't even over yet and I feel mentally exhausted. Confessing that my mind is already running on empty is extremely embarrassing for me. It's kind of like exercise. When you stop going to the gym, it's hard to exercise for extended periods of time without becoming winded. I haven't exercised my brain or even my free thought on a routine basis. When I started writing on Day #1, I took off like a bat out of hell, (Meatloaf pun entirely intended). I knew I should have paced myself.

In order to keep myself from getting writer's block, I thought I would journal some more random thought from my solitary confinement.

Earlier this morning, as I woke up, I noticed through the curtains that the sun had not yet risen. I quickly jumped out of bed, grabbed my cigarettes and lighter, and headed outside to watch the sun rise. That would've been fine and dandy except as I opened the front door, I was greeted with cool air and an overcast sky. "That's why it looked like the sun hadn't risen yet", I thought to myself, "The clouds are blocking the sun's rays." Regardless, it felt nice this morning to step out into the arms of a mild and temperate Mother Nature. I sat down on the sidewalk and surveyed the teal colored sky all around me. I crossed my arms over my knees and finished my nicotine breakfast, slowly.

Aside from everything else, it's been AMAZING having the week off from Starbucks. Don't misunderstand me, I LOVE working at Starbucks, but sometimes I need some solitary confinement to...Think about things and survey things I normally wouldn't notice on a busy day.

Wait, I take that back. That isn't true because I notice and memorize every detail of people, places and things that intrigue me, no matter how busy I am.

Would it be safe to say that sometimes I just need a break from the world? I don't even know if that's a true statement because I'm not trying to get away from the world. I love the world and the people in it. But being alone brings on a feeling of weightlessness that can only be matched during deep sea diving or space travel, I'm sure. Being alone allows me to freely get in touch with my ridiculous and irresponsible side because I'm only accountable for one person when I'm alone.

Myself.

A perfect example of the irresponsible behavior I partake in when I'm alone was showcased earlier. I ditched my writing for a few hours so I could listen to Electric Light Orchestra while I pondered the meaning of life for the millionth time, today. This is what happens when thought is able to roam, free-range style. Lost in free thought, I humored myself by trying to guess which of my friends could possibly be hiding a secret love for ELO and staring out into complete oblivion.

I can't put my finger on what it is about ELO that puts me in a trance-like state, freezing me so I can't stop listening to their wonderful, catchy songs. Watching ELO music videos today, I can definitely see where the FLIPs get a big portion of their influence. Maybe that's why I like ELO so much? No matter what the reasons are behind my love for experimental spacey music, I salute them. The music serves as the perfect soundtrack to my irresponsibility, distracting me from focusing on work and from feeling guilty for doing nothing except enjoying radical amazing-ness.

I also have to take my hat off to the idea of voluntary, solitary confinement. (I stress the word voluntary as I have no desire to be arrested and forced into solitary confinement.) Being alone has its perks outside of simply allowing me more time to work. It gave me the opportunity to nerd out in privacy and exercise my free thought. I got to do it in my pajamas too, and no one cared.

I wonder if this is how Kevin McAllister felt when his family left him home alone, twice.

Really?
What are the odds of accidentally leaving your bratty, smart-mouth kid at home by himself while you go on vacation....

Twice?

Analyzing the parenting skills of the McAllisters is a perfect example of the ridiculous behavior I partake in when I'm alone.

Day 2 : I'm getting better. Even if only slightly.

2010-08-18T03:56:00.000-07:00

My Holiday Mathis horoscope for the day...

CANCER (June 22-July 22). For you, it's not satisfying to plod along in the middle, making a minimal impact. When you give your energy to a project, you expect the end result to be a major hit. And this expectation will soon be met.

Very awesome encouragement!

I have to celebrate a little because I've made more progress on the script than I anticipated to have made by this time. Things are running along smoothly so there's no doubt in my mind that the first draft will be typed up and ready for critical eyes and minds to read in no time! Its been strange going back down memory lane to find the inspiration for writing the scenes. For the first time, it hasn't mind fucked me completely to travel back down those abandoned roads. This can only mean one thing.

I'm getting better. Even if only slightly.

The fortunes of fables are able to sing the song.
Now witness the quickness with which we get along.
To sing the blues, you've got to live the tunes
and carry on...
Love is coming, it's coming to us all.
--Carry On / CSNY

Day 1: I believe it's worth more.

2010-08-17T17:40:00.000-07:00

It shouldn't be any surprise that I'm starting off the "Week of Seclusion" in Oklahoma. I thought it would be the perfect backdrop to encourage my writing since I have bittersweet memories of the area. Bitter-sweetness is the fuel that art uses to move and my writing is no different. Truthfully, I didn't turn off my phone until mid-morning, but since last night, I've stuck to the promise to stay off Myspace, Facebook, and Twitter. This pledge to abandon my phone and online social networking make me feel like a high-tech communications junkie in recovery.

Too bad I don't have Dr.Drew here to guide me through the process.

The past few days I've been talking about and preparing for this trip, I've been thinking about how bizarre, crazy, or just plain boring my obsession over my dreams and goals sound to those who aren't into writing. These dreams and plans I have must sound particularly ridiculous to those who don't obsess over anything, period.

Today, before I began to dive back into working on my memoir script, I took a shower. I usually listen to music but I nixed my playlist for a few moments so I could thoroughly cleanse my body and mind. This is a new pre-writing ritual I discovered. The sound of only the water that poured from the shower head, over my entire being and into the bathtub allowed me to hear my own thoughts. Just like the water my thoughts moved, pouring out from my head and heart and over my entire being. I was immersed in a mixture of solitary thought and warm, soft water.

I began to think of everything I have sacrificed, everything I am sacrificing, and everything I would sacrifice, in order to see this script written from start to finish.

My mother and I actually had this discussion about sacrifice last Saturday night. She could tell I was becoming anxious and came into my bedroom, where I laid quietly, alone on the bed in dim lighting. She sat down and stroked my forehead. Without question, she spoke to me and said, "Dear, there's no need for you to worry. You've done everything and you're doing everything you need to do in order to make your dreams come true. You have the talent and the content. Its all there. You just have to continue doing whatever it takes to get your script finished."

"I know mama", I replied to her reassuring words, then said, "It's just trying to figure out the best way to get there. I know I have to sacrifice some things to make sure I have time to write and finish this script. This time around, NOTHING is off the chopping block.... Well except for Adam."

After drying off from my pre-writing shower earlier today, I couldn't shake off thinking about the word, "sacrifice". The word itself sounds dramatic and fatal, but it's an important word that comes to my mind when explaining what its like to live with a love for my dreams to become my reality.

Anything in this world is possible, you just have to take the steps to get what you want. Unfortunately, sacrifice is a mandatory step we take to travel the most effective route to our dreams. After its all said and done, the route becomes a map that shows us how we got there. The things we kept in our lives are marked as points of interest we stopped at along the way, and the things we sacrificed in our lives are noted as dead ends we accidentally went down or routes we avoided all together.

Sounds brutal?
I'm not going to lie, it is brutal.

The idea of sacrifice is an idea I'm sure the New Rich would love to argue because it sounds like an Old Rich institution. However, I'm not saving up my time to spend it all on something that is meaningless, like a new car or a mansion. I'm spending my time to write something that means the world to me that I want to share with the rest of the world for years to come.

I believe that's worth more than a Ferrari.

I believe it's worth more than having drinks at a trendy bar.
It's worth more than the white picket fence and 2.5 kids
More than the comfort of staying in a state
where I'm most familiar.
It's worth more than a fleeting one night stand,
an iPhone, designer shoes
and haute couture fashionista status.
For now it's worth more than
you.
It's worth more than
me,
and the almost finished college degree plan.
It means more than fame,
It's worth unmatched against
all the love
and all the money in the world.
I believe it's worth more.

The rest of the story from Summer 2010.

2010-08-13T00:29:00.000-07:00

It's time to catch up on life and the unfinished experiences of Summer 2010.

The biggest experience this summer has been my family's departure from our life in Oklahoma. In a sense I can see where my father's death in Spring 2009 marked the beginning of the terminal stage for our time spent in the Sooner State.

Experiencing the death of a parent brings about feelings of mortality and fortunately/UNfortunately, for me, second chances. I say fortunately/UNfortunately because the death of my father has been the most bittersweet event in my lifetime. It brought upon feelings of grief I never could have prepared for; mentally, physically, emotionally and spiritually. It also brought upon feelings of liberation because I didn't have to worry about my alcoholic father hurting my family, himself, or me, any longer.

The acceptance stage of grief from dealing with my father's death finally began this summer. Though I accept it, I continue to deal with his loss on a day to day basis. There isn't a day that goes by that one of my five senses isn't jolted, which causes my present state of being to be rattled with memories of my father. Particularly my sense of hearing is sensitive to his memory because his favorite thing to share with me was his love for rock n' roll music. From first hand experience I can say that no one truly gets over the loss of a parent, but in order to continue life, the loss must be something one learns to live within.

I guess that's what acceptance is all about; learning how to cope and live with something you are incapable of changing.

From the time I moved to Texas in January 2010 to today; Friday, August 13, 2010; I can see that I've had a hyper-reaction to not only my father's death, but also from losing a family member to homicide and from my grandfather's death; all of which happened in 2009. This hyper-reaction is the reason I wake up every morning and praise the rising sun, because watching the sun rise means I was given a chance to live another day. I know that sounds a bit overdone, but it's how I feel every day I open my eyes for the first time.

My biggest fear still today, is that the deaths of my three loved ones happened in vain. I cannot live with that notion. For death to happen in vain, in my opinion, means that life existed in vain; without reason. The three lives that were lost last year did not begin or end in vain. I've made it my personal mission to make sure that none of the tragic events from my past life in Oklahoma, including the loss of my three loves ones, do not go written down in the book of life as happening in vain. I plan to do something incredible with my time on this earth and my second chance to live a fulfilling life, despite the unlucky events that have happened. Through my refusal to simply exist without reason, I plan to personally avenge the deaths of my loved ones.

It's an interesting concept I think, for life to be inspired from death.

The hyper-pro-living lifestyle I've chosen to pursue has diffused into my brother Patrick's path, and he left his job a few weeks ago because of how unhappy it made him. When we sat down and talked about the pros and cons of him leaving the job, the final belief that won was; "What's the point of doing something if you're not content with it?" My soul was inspired at how he decided to follow his heart and mind and he didn't allow a belief in money and material possessions rule his life's decisions.

No matter what, at the end of the day
money can be won
money can be made
money can be saved
and money can be lost.

The only thing that always remains intact, without the need for anything except for yourself, is how you feel; good or bad, happy or sad. My brother decided that peace of mind and making his heart's true dreams and desires a priority were worth risking it all; leaving a stable paycheck and job security so he could find real happiness and have more time to work on the goals he truly wants to accomplish in his lifetime.

Salud! Baila, baila!

Over the course of this summer, Patrick and I have both begun to explore our personal interests freely, for the first time in our lives. From starting an art promotions company together, to making more time for leisure activities we enjoy, [like going to art museums and having family BBQs], to opening ourselves up to meeting new people and making a point to take part in new life experiences as often as possible...

Despite our hit-the-ground-running attitude toward life in Texas, not everyone felt their path was in the same state.

The youngest of our sibling trinity, Joey, moved back to Oklahoma a month ago. It's something I've chosen not to talk about too much because it breaks my heart that he isn't on this journey with us. When Joey left, he said it was because he was happier in Oklahoma. I'm still trying to figure out how that could be possible. I have to remind myself that everyone's idea of happiness is different and that truly loving someone means encouraging them in their version of happiness, even if you don't share the same vision.

Patrick and I haven't really spoken to Joey much since he moved. Hopefully he's truly happy living in Oklahoma again.

At the end of the day that's all that matters; Happiness.

So now with the return of football on TV and school supplies on sale at Wal-Mart, I can sense Summer 2010 winding down. I made a personal goal to myself at the beginning of the summer to have the first draft of my memoir/script written by the end of the season so I could begin work-shopping it this fall.

I'm running short on time in keeping that promise to myself.

Next Monday, Adam is scheduled for a full week of visitation with his father. Thanks to Ms. Amanda Star, a friend and co-worker from Starbucks, I also have all of next week off from work. Starting Monday night, August 16, 2010 to Friday morning, August 20, 2010, I plan to go into complete seclusion. This means NO PHONE and NO ONLINE SOCIAL NETWORKING, so that I can concentrate 100% on finishing the first draft of my script. I plan to not only finish the script, but also to journal the experience of spending that much time alone. It will be the first time in my life I've gone an entire week without my phone, Twitter, Facebook and Myspace. The week of seclusion should be a separate story all on its own.

Get it? Seclusion...all on its own.

Now that I've humored myself and found some balance and reason to the season, I'm off to catch the last part of the Perseid meteor shower. I did the same thing around this time last year when I still lived in Oklahoma. That night, as I sat in my mothers driveway by myself, I saw one of the meteors shoot across the sky from east to west, like a blazing, pastel blue flame. It was the first time I saw a shooting star go across the sky instead of fall from the sky, so I made a wish on it.

In this moment, I just realized that wish came true.

A boy with a coin he crammed in his jeans
Then making a wish he tossed in the sea
Walked to a town that all of us burn
When God left the ground to circle the world
--Boy With a Coin / IRON & WINE

"It never stops."

2010-08-11T02:12:00.000-07:00

Tonight was the night. It was the night I came to the realization that no matter how positive my outlook on life is at the moment, or the fact that I'm finally taking steps in the right direction these days, my past is ALWAYS lingering around the corner...ALWAYS stalking me, reminding me that things really can get destitute in a matter of seconds.

It never stops.
It n-e-v-e-r f-u-c-k-i-n-g stops.

This time it happened at a What-A-Burger, after we left the Eighth Circuit show @ the Ridglea Theater, off Camp Bowie Blvd in Fort Worth, TX. As we pulled up in the parking lot, I noticed the stop sign intersection and it looked strangely familiar. Once we walked into the restaurant, my attention immediately turned to the booth in the back corner. Suddenly, I could see last year; Davin, Joey, and Patrick and me; sitting in that back booth, drunk and laughing, waiting for our hamburgers. When I sat at that booth a year ago, I was the happiest girl in the world. Davin and I just came from Patrick and Joey's home on Wimberley St, and my brothers had Davin convinced that Texas would be an amazing place to move. We ate our hamburgers and I relished in the idea that it would only be one more month before we moved from Oklahoma to Texas. I was excited for the opportunities I knew Davin would find for his career in the metroplex, and I was also happy that I was going to be closer to my brothers.

I couldn't have been more wrong in my prediction.

We left the What-A-Burger that night, a year ago, with no idea that it would be the locale for our last peaceful supper together. My brother dropped us off after we ate dinner, at the Holiday Inn on Cherry Lane. Davin and I sat downstairs to smoke a cigarette before we walked inside. We were both hopeful and happy, which was a big deal considering that after Davin moved in with me and my father passed away, we argued, constantly.

The next morning I woke up to Davin's phone that wouldn't stop ringing. Finally, I answered it, and we received the news from his mom that his father and step-mother were gone...

Everything for everyone changed after that moment.

Every day it comes to this
Catch the things you might have missed
You say, get back to yesterday
I ain't ever going back
To the place that I can't stand
I'm always misunderstood
Up and down
Pulled apart and ripped in two
And I miss the way you lie
--Catch the Sun - The Doves

This I believe.

2010-08-10T10:42:00.000-07:00

Working in the heart of downtown Fort Worth has put me in the path of a variety of people I wouldn't normally come into contact with. From corporate Americans, homeless teens, restaurant owners, service workers, college professors, vacationers and business travelers; everyday is a new adventure because of the diverse types of people that I encounter. This week I had the pleasure of meeting an interesting group of individuals who came from all over the world to attend the Believer's Convention, hosted by Kenneth Copeland Ministries.

First of all, if you asked me if I was going to the Believer's Convention, I would have told you no because my faith doesn't follow textbook Christianity. Honestly, I'm not exactly sure where I stand in my faith and beliefs. I know that I believe in a higher power and the Golden Rule, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you", and "good energy promotes good energy and bad energy promotes bad energy".

That's pretty much the foundation of my personal faith.

In the past, if someone were to approach me from an organized religion, I would've judged them because I didn't share their beliefs, and I would've tuned them out before they even spoke. I've realized in my 27 years on this planet, that if I judge someone because I think they're going to judge me, that type of reaction is negative, and is rooted in fear and ignorance. Fear and ignorance stagnate minds and isolate people, which only hinders our humanity's evolution.

I believe we're capable of something better than fear and ignorance.

On this spiritual journey, I'm striving to be a well-rounded and welcoming spirit and I do my best to try to stick to that philosophy 24/7. I do this because I want to be a better person and also so I don't shut myself out from opportunities; personal experiences and business/career standpoints. I will admit that it's tough not to judge people who approach me, and I have to remind myself throughout the day not to give in to the cycle of negativity and react to someone negatively, especially when they treat me poorly.

I confess, last Sunday, when my boss asked me to make extra coffee base for frappuccinos an hour before we closed, I took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh. Then I slowly opened the cabinet where we keep the powdered mix and took my time measuring out the water for the base. Moving at a glacial pace was my private protest against having to serve the soon-to-be masses of people who would be in our store the next day, demanding tasty, icy beverages. Before I even had time to take another heavy sigh, a group of customers came walking into our store.

I stopped stirring and started talking.

"Hi! What can I get started for you today?" I asked the first man who approached the counter.
"Can I get a large coffee?" he asked, politely.
"Sure! Can I get you anything else?" I asked him as I grabbed the large paper cup and turned around to pour the coffee.
"Nope that's all. But I'm sure you'll see me in here everyday for the next week," he replied.
I still had my back turned, pouring coffee as I asked, "Oh, are you here for the convention?"
"Sure am!", he replied back, matter-of-factly.

In the course of the 60 seconds I had my back turned, pouring the man's coffee, T-minus 1 hour from home became T-minus 2 hours, as I was greeted with a line of people waiting at my register. The people appeared to be sweaty, and I just knew that the extra coffee base I was making for frappuccinos was about to be gone. I relished in some comedy relief by impersonating Charlie Brown, as I thought to myself, "Rats."

I smiled at the man, "Your total comes to $2.01."
"Thank you!" and he handed me exact change, then left me a dollar tip in my tip jar, and walked away.
I put the exact change in the register, "Thank you and have a nice day sir!"
"You too!" he replied from a distance.

Even with my tip jar +1, I wasn't thrilled about the idea of having to make drinks for the next hour. We were an hour away from closing, and I was looking forward to going home shortly after we locked the doors. Despite the fact, I did my best not to take it out on the customers. After all, it was hot outside. Who wouldn't want a tasty, icy drink right now? I couldn't blame them for wanting to rehydrate and recharge.

I smiled at the blonde haired woman now standing at my register and asked her jubilantly, "What can I get started for you today, ma'am?"
"A mocha frappuccino", she replied.
"What size would you like?" I asked, oozing politeness and good vibes.
"Medium...I mean, grande," the woman said, slightly embarrassed that Starbucks was not her first language.
"Okay, can I get you anything else ma'am?" I asked, and I smiled again to reassure her that I wasn't going to judge her based on our language barrier.
"That's it", and she gave me a smile in return.

Good energy promotes good energy.

"So are you here for the convention?" I inquired as I began to pump the correct amount of coffee pumps into the cup.
"I am", she said, happy that I had asked her about it.
"That' cool", I said, "So, I've never seen or heard of a convention like this before. What exactly is it?" I asked, now curious to know what all the fuss was about.
"Well it's like an intensive bible study where Christians from all over the world come together to listen to different speakers talk about the word and the love of God."
"I heard Randy Travis was supposed to be there", I responded. I wasn't being facetious though, I truly did hear that rumor from my boss.
"That's what everyone is saying but I don't know that anything is confirmed", she responded.

After carefully adding all of the ingredients into the blender, I turned the blender on and walked back to the register to begin totaling her ticket.

"Your total comes up to $3.56" I said.
She handed me a five dollar bill and said, "Kenneth is such a great speaker, and Jesse Duplantis...He's from Louisiana, he's really funny."
"Louisiana? What part of Louisiana?" I asked her as I was handing her back her change.
"New Orleans", she replied, and she dropped the coin change in my tip jar.
"I have family in Louisiana" I told her, "My dad...well my surrogate dad, he lives in Louisiana. I really miss him."

I began to think about my surrogate dad, and how long it had been since I saw him last. Completely out of character, I asked the woman, "Do you know where I can get a schedule for the convention?"

"Sure! Would you like to come?!" she asked me, excitedly.
"I think I will", I replied.
"I have a schedule in my room upstairs, I'll bring it down for you!" the woman offered.
"Really? That's really nice of you! Thank you so much!" I told her.
"You're welcome" she added, and she walked away.

I decided to go to the convention because I thought it would be an interesting experience. I had never been to an evangelical event. At the very least, I knew it would help with my writing because I would be experiencing something out of my ordinary. I also wanted to get some information for my surrogate father, since he is very strong in his recently renewed Christian faith, and I want to support him in his faith, no matter what. Even though I didn't necessarily agree with the beliefs being taught, I couldn't see where it would be wrong for me to go to the convention. It was a win-win all around.

So I went to the convention, and thanks to the man first man who came into the store that Sunday, I got VIP seating on the floor of the convention. They were right, Mr. Jesse Duplantis was funny, and I could see where he made his sermons entertaining and casual, so people could understand his interpretation upon his faith and belief in God. The entire week of the convention, work was good, and the people took care of all of our baristas, making sure to acknowledge when we made drinks well and tipping us. Not once, did any of the people from the convention press their beliefs on me nor did they treat me rudely. This was even after I confessed to them that post 2009, I wasn't sure where I stood in my faith about anything except for my own life and humanity. The week flew by, and each person I made a connection with came by the store to say good-bye and some gave me their business cards with the hugs. It was awesome giving out hugs at work. What can I say? You can't blame me, I'm a hugger.

The Sunday everyone departed, I looked at our empty store and began to miss the mass of good energy.

I took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh. Just as I did, a tiny woman walked into the store with a huge smile on her face. I couldn't help but mirror her action, and I smiled back. As I made her drink, we talked, and she informed me that she was from Australia. She inspired me with her devotion to her faith, traveling that far to come to the convention. She began to ask me about my life, and I gave her the synopsis. She told me that I inspired her, and she asked me if she could pray for me and I obliged. So right there at the register, she held my hand and asked God to guide me on my spiritual journey and she said that I was going to lift people up through my writing.

It was the nicest thing a complete stranger has ever done for me, in my entire life.

So have my faiths and beliefs been changed since this experience? Yes and no. I still don't believe I'm a Christian and I still believe I have a lot of learning to do when it comes to spirituality and faith. I'm proud of myself for opening up to the idea of Christianity because even though I didn't leave the experience sharing the exact same beliefs of those I met, I still came into contact with amazing people that touched and impacted my life. Instead of fearing them and ignoring them I tried a different approach and immersed myself in their energy. I also picked up the literature I intended to get for my surrogate father. Hopefully, once he gets the books in the mail, he'll be happy learning more about his faith, and he can connect with the ministry. Mission accomplished.

I believe we're capable of something better than fear and ignorance.
That's pretty much the foundation of my personal faith.

"I think I might be in love. Like the lasting kind of love."

2010-08-05T09:16:00.000-07:00

RANDALL: What's this romanticism I see VIA fb post?
LIZ: I think I might be in love. Like the lasting kind of love.
RANDALL: Who's the dude?
LIZ: His name is Ryan Roberts.
RANDALL: I don't believe in love anymore. I date chicks and that's it.
LIZ: How could you not believe in love? It's all around you every day.
RANDALL: It is all around me, I just don't feel it myself these days.
LIZ: Why don't you feel it?
RANDALL: Not sure. Like I've gone out with this girl I met, totally gorgeous, totally fun, but I just don't feel anything. And it's like that with others too.
LIZ: You just haven't met that girl yet, that's all. You don't have to fall in love with every girl you date, but chances are you'll meet that girl at some point and you'll grow to love her.
RANDALL: I'll stick to fucking.

1....
    2....
        3.....
            4....
                5 minutes pass

RANDALL: I guess that was kind of a rude thing to say.
LIZ: It wasn't rude. It sounded misogynistic.

Before I go any further, I'd like to state for the record that Mr. Randall Hall is NOT a misogynist. I can say that with confidence because he's my ex-boyfriend turned amazing friend. Though I haven't seen him since we broke up in 2002, we still maintain a friendship based on mutual respect and a common infatuation with art. Neither of us can remember exactly why it was we broke up nearly ten years ago. The part that I do remember was crying myself to sleep for months after he moved to Florida, immediately after we were over. He moved on quicker than I ever imagined and while he was happy without me, finding out what life was all about, I stayed in Oklahoma, locked in my dorm room, listening to emo punk rock. For months I wished on a daily basis that he would change his mind and move back to Oklahoma. Obviously he didn't, and back then, I was sure I would never love again, EVER.

Boy, was I was wrong.

AJ came along next, with his body piercings, hardcore metal music, drugs I could never pronounce the name of, and bleach white spiky hair. Needless to say it was love at first sight. AJ proposed to me [twice] within six months and I accepted, [twice]. We had one beautiful child who we named Adam. However, due to AJ's love for overseas pharmacies and international commerce, I filed for divorce in 2006. Again, I had that feeling of never being capable to love someone, EVER. Instead of crying this time, I began to panic. It was overwhelming becoming a single mother overnight, and each day my anger toward him for choosing his addictions over Adam and I made me want to punch him in the face. Especially every time I had to see him in court. It wasn't just him I was angry with though, I was also angry with myself for marrying him. AJ and I had absolutely nothing in common except an extreme physical attrition to each other. Regardless, I was hurt and embarrassed about being someone's ex-wife at 23. The sting of failure allowed me to rationalize locking myself up in my house. The only person I wanted to be around was my then BFF, Traci.

Thankfully, Traci wasn't domesticated in any way, shape or form. She helped me pick myself up off the ground, dusted my shoulders off, and I started making new friends.

In Spring 2007, I found myself spending most of my time talking to a boy who offered to carry my jacket around so it didn't get lost at house party we were both at . His name was Davin. We stayed up at his house all night, talking. Dim light began to fill up his living room as the sun rose that morning. His cold blue eyes looked gorgeous against the slate grey colored setting. I could smell the freshness of spring rain in the air and I noticed the window was slightly open. We were on the couch when he leaned into my ear and he whispered, "I'm going to kiss you now." It was love all over again times a trillion. Being with Davin was like dating my best friend because we had everything in common. We wrote stories together, painted, listened to 2pac, and made out every chance we got.

Our time was put on hold when he moved to Louisiana six months after we met. In the name of love and utter stupidity, we continued a long distance relationship and talked on the phone every single day we were apart, for hours at a time. We also visited each other as much as possible. I loved visiting his family as we road-tripped throughout the south, and both his mother and father fell in love me because they saw how much I truly loved their son.

By the time Summer 2008 came, we were still living 300+ miles apart. On my personal home front in Oklahoma, I was stressed financially and Davin couldn't understand because he wasn't there to see it. We broke up that summer because of jealousy, distance and insecurity. We didn't speak for a month, but eventually our cold war ended in Fall 2008 when Davin and I got back together. I was sure that we had finally made a commitment to be a real couple when we decided to move in together in March 2009.

It was blissful for the first six hours.

Then the jealousies returned, despite the fact that we were together 24/7. Within six months we were broken up for good, parting ways in August 2009. It wasn't just the fact that we were insecure with ourselves and each other, but we both lost our fathers, back-to-back, that year. The enormous amount of grief and stress that bitch-slapped us in the face, on top of adjusting to a new life together as a family was something neither he or I was prepared to cope with.

I did more than just cry over the loss of Davin. He was my life. When he left me, it felt like I was stabbed with a jagged machete through the core of my entire being; physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I didn't survive the loss of that love. Instead, I died and recycled my time on this earth by starting an entirely new life.

The winter months of 2009 weren't so cold when I met Jeremy, the lawyer/DJ/chocolatier. I experienced more with Jeremy in the three months we were together than I did with any of my previous suitors. He treated me like a princess. This was something I'd never experienced in my entire life. He was the perfect gentlemen; tall, dark, and charming. Because he had been married before, he understood the shittiness of divorce. My heart melted when he asked me to meet his parents at a radio station NYE party where he was co-DJing with his dad. Jeremy also taught me how to shoot guns and held my hand steady as I nervously aimed and shot my first one, a mini-assault rifle. The same day, oddly enough, we ended up at an exotic animal zoo because he wanted me to see the baby tigers and ligers. That's Jeremy; random, strong and sensitive, all at once.

We connected on every level except in reality. My life had literally fallen apart and his life was so incredibly intact. I was jealous of his successful lifestyle and laid back attitude. Everything worked out for him, always.This was not my case, and though Jeremy was a lawyer, he couldn't argue my statement about how different our lives were. Sometimes things just don't work out. In mid January 2010 I moved to Texas and said goodbye to Jeremy.

I'm not sure who broke whose heart this time, but I'm leaning toward a tie.

It's funny, the saying, "Sometimes things just don't work out." That statement is never true because every action, no matter how tiny or grand it may be, affects the outcome of a reaction. This is basic chemistry. Sometimes things explode, or you get what you want, and sometimes the product you were hoping to produce becomes something new due to a slight alteration in your formula; a slight alteration in your plans. So either way, something worked out. (Right Brando? =)

Once I got to Texas I had time to be alone and truly began to rebuild myself. Since I've been here, I've explored all over the metroplex; by bus, by car, and my personal favorite, trainhopping. Each place I go, I discover random parts of culture, style, attitude, and art. I've taken these spare parts, kept the ones I liked, and tweaked them to add to the rebuilding of my life. I've also done some intensive soul searching, going back in time and I have allowed myself to honestly explore all the parts of my past; good, bad, and ugly. I did this because I wanted an answer to my death; an answer as to why I had been crushed over and over, then demolished. I studied all of my behaviors, my previous relationships with people, particularly my relationship with my parents and the mile long road of failed romances. The information I gathered from this study was outrageous.

I finally understand why I spent so much time chasing after people who didn't want to be with me It was a cycle taught to me by my parents. Since the dawn of time, (which for me, was around 1983 C.E.), my parents spent their entire lives chasing each other, falling in love, then fighting, then running; Repeat. I don't know where my parents learned that cliche way of life, but they dragged me and my brothers on their endless, tag-you're-it lifestyle, even after we moved out of their home. It wasn't until my father's passing last year that I realized running from and chasing someone forever was not a mandatory or healthy way to live. I didn't have to be with someone if I wasn't content in a relationship with them and vice-versa. The possibility to a happy ending in my life was now visible in my heart's sight.

The tragic part of this realization is that I was only able to find the answer through my father's death. I would have never fathomed the idea to question our family's way of living if he was still alive today. I can tell you exactly what I would be doing if were alive now. I'd be chasing him because he was on a drinking binge and no one had heard from or seen him in days, or because I missed him and just wanted to visit him, or to
deliver a message to him from my mother. I know it's unhealthy to say this, but I would gladly give up all of the knowledge I've learned the past year, which I believe is worth more than all the love in the world, to spend even one more day with my dad. He is the only person I'll ever know whose soul resounded just like my own.

Unless you've ever been a daughter to a father, you have no idea what I'm talking about.

The voids I felt from 2009 became replaced in 2010 with rededicating myself to my art, finding ways to bridge my dreams and reality, and my determination to live by way of the, "I do what I want", formula. I almost hate to say this because I don't want to jinx it, but so far, the results I've seen from living this way have given me nothing but positive results. These positive results aren't just work and career oriented, but somewhere along the way I was lucky enough to run into Ryan at the end of March 2010. Truthfully, our friendship began on a work basis, as he was searching for content writers for a project he was working on. Had he never approached me under those terms, I probably would not have gone with him to the Granada Theater in Dallas on April 9, 2010.

Since that day, my life hasn't been the same.

The months that followed after our first meeting have been incredible. I never imagined I would meet some one who is as everything as Ryan is all the time. He's positive, stable, handsome, energetic, real, creative, hilarious and ridiculous. Even when we're not in the same room together, all I have to do is think of his smile and I gush and giggle like a school girl. Every day with him is exciting, like a new adventure, and it's not just me that's he's fallen in love with, but my family too. I feel the same way about his family. They have accepted Adam and me into their lives with open arms and made us feel like family from the first day we met them.

RYAN: I think me and Patrick are gonna go to Top Golf today.
LIZ: What's Top Golf?
RYAN: It's this place in Dallas, an indoor driving range. They have Targets in there too.
LIZ: Marry me Ryan.
RYAN: (laughs) Okay.
LIZ: I don't mean that literally, like I want to go get married today. I've just never been this happy to be with someone and shared my life with someone like you. You love all the parts of my life, including my family, and you have no idea how much that means to me. I never thought in my life I could feel like this. I want to spend every day with you now and I don't ever want this to stop.
RYAN: I feel the same way.

It was in that moment, which happened in the car last Sunday, that I realized I truly was in love with Ryan. He couldn't see the tears in my eyes because I was wearing a pair of enormous fashion sunglasses. I'm actually kind of glad he didn't because he would've thought I was crazy, I'm sure. The tears that I cried weren't coming from heartbreak. For the first time in my life I felt like someone actually loved me.

I think I might me in love. Like the lasting kind of love.

Haven't had a [good] dream
in a long time
See the life I've had
can make a good man bad
So for once in my life
please, please, please
let me get what I want
Lord knows it would be the first time.

-- Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want/ The Smiths

For Parick [to be continued...]

2010-07-28T12:27:00.000-07:00

COMMUNICATION is the word of the day, [or rather the lack there of since I lost my phone last Saturday]. I've said this before, but you'd sincerely be amazed at the amount of communicating you can do without a phone. Yesterday, I was reminded of that as I had a life changing conversation with my brother, face to face, at the library in downtown Fort Worth. If I had a phone in that moment I know I wouldn't have given my utmost attention to the conversation at hand.

I would've been texting people, aimlessly.

PATRICK: They want me to come in today.
LIZ: What?! Why?!
PATRICK: Because they're fucking up at the store and apparently they can't handle it.
LIZ: That's fucking lame! It's your ONE DAY OFF.
PATRICK: I know, I'm fucking sick of this. They always do this to me on my day off. I'm exhausted and lethargic every single day. It's just getting old and I'm not happy.
LIZ: What are you gonna do?
PATRICK: I'm not going in.

My brother Patrick quit his job yesterday.

Even as I typed the previous statement, I knew it would sound grim, as the sentence stands on its own, solemn and alone.

Stands on its own, alone.

That's the theme here. But I should note that my brother deciding to leave his job is the furthest thing from grim or gloomy. In fact, its the exact opposite, and I couldn't be happier for him. It's an empowering feeling to realize that you're capable to do what you want with your life, and exercise your right to choose. It's also inspiring to see others around you, happy, doing the exact same thing.

Suddenly you're not standing on your own, alone.

So far in July...[a pictorial]

2010-07-18T10:29:00.000-07:00

Adam on a boat 7.4.10

Me on a boat 7.4.10

Trying to reason with Adam...on a boat 7.4.10

Ryan backyard [It's summertime...]

Promo w/ Tonight, Tonight! @ The Prophet Bar in Deep Ellum 7.10.10

Pt. I - ACCEPT and EXPECT

2010-07-17T11:40:00.000-07:00

It's been an interesting two weeks since the last time I sat down to write. I definitely have the desire to write. The biggest challenge is trying to recall the moments throughout the day that inspire me. Once I get home, it's hard to recapture those raw thoughts, let alone translate them into written words. I'm not giving up though and Ive decided to invest in a voice recorder next week. This way I can think out loud and listen to the ideas again once I get off work.

I know one thing for sure; my mind is entirely focused on the pursuit of happiness since I entered the ACCEPTANCE stage of my grieving process. I realize that grief is never completely gone but I also know that I'll never move forward if I linger on that fact. So I'm coping instead of running, learning to ACCEPT my losses, (pun intended), and more importantly, I'm learning to ACCEPT wins. This is probably going to sound strange, but for me, it's always been easier to ACCEPT losses over wins. Even though I'm feeling a trillion times better these days, I'm still paranoid and cautious because I'm EXPECTING tragedy around every corner. It's hard to break old habits and learned behaviors. Because of that, I ACCEPT that my anxiety isn't going anywhere anytime soon. However, I found a way to cope with the anxious energy in a completely UNEXPECTED, but tremendously positive manner.

Roughly a month ago I was asked by the Red Cross to join the inaugural class of the Disaster Assessment team. The purpose of the team is to prepare for disasters such as hurricanes, floods, etc...before they happen. For instance, if there's a bad storm in or near our service area, the Disaster Assessment team gets in touch with the team captain and reports the weather conditions in their residence area. Then the team tunes into the national weather service's A.M. frequency and begins to track the storm. They communicate the information from those reports with the team captain and the chapter, as well as report the information to local police and fire departments. Once everyone involved is aware of the situation, the D.A. team begins mapping residential areas on detailed maps that show everything, including unnamed dirt roads, back roads and even utility transmission lines. With that information the team can assess high risk areas and large networks where utilities may become unavailable, if the worst happens.

Once the assessment is complete, the Disaster Team assembles at the chapter building and prepares supplies with the First Responder Team in case of an emergency. Then it's a waiting game until after the storm. If the worst does happen and people are affected, the teams take the supplies into the areas and the Disaster Assessment members take notes on how many people were injured, and where the affected people are so medics can find them. The D.A. team also assesses the residences that were damaged and are unlivable, and report that information to the shelter team so they can begin setting up shelters. If the disaster is large scale, the D.A. team gets in touch with government agencies such as FEMA and petitions for aid to be sent to the area, and in serious situations, the Red Cross will suggest that a state of emergency be declared.

When I sat in on the first meeting for Disaster Assessment, I felt like I found my new home.

LIZ: (To D.A. Captain, JIM) So basically you're saying we study, track, and wait for disasters?
JIM: Exactly. Now you're catching on girl!
LIZ: Oh my god, you have no idea. I've been doing that my whole life!
JIM: Well after I talked to you at the last meeting, I thought you'd be interested. Hell, you even surprised me with how much you already knew!
LIZ: Yeah, I always feel the need to make sure everyone knows how much I love volunteering with the Red Cross.
JIM: Well listen, it's gonna be a lot of work because this is a new team our chapter of the Red Cross has started and if you join, you'll be in the first certified team of Disaster Assessment here.
LIZ: Where do I sign up?

So that's where 1/4 of my time has been spent in the past 30 days. I've been learning how to read every type of map known to mankind, practicing how to operate a H.A.M. radio, and helping the team build our official protocol plan. My team captain has a tremendous amount of faith in me and at our last meeting, he asked me to begin training to work as a government liason for our team. His belief in what we're doing and his belief in me is extraordinary.

Joining the Disaster Assessment team has helped me balance out my anxious habits. Instead of sitting alone, dwelling and waiting for tragedy to strike me personally, I've shifted the focus off my narcissistic self and now I'm using the anxiety to do something positive for other people. I never imagined there would be a group of people who actually love my need to prepare for the worst. I also never thought I'd see the day where my anxiety could be utilized to help save lives. I'd be lying if I said that doing something positive for others didn't make me feel good as well.

Our official certification test date is July 31st. My captain also mentioned to me yesterday that for our last training exercise before the test, he was going to drop me and my other team mates off in the barrio at night. If we can't find our way back to the chapter on foot; carrying our go-bags full of the required supplies, no cell phones, no GPS, only using an old school paper map; he wasn't coming to get us.

Wish me luck or come visit me at my new home in the barrio, next week.

2010-07-06T10:59:00.000-07:00

July 2, 2010

After settling into the idea that I would have to cope with and face my wall of sadness, the weight of carrying it with me everywhere I go has lessened, even if only slightly. I also opened up a little more to Ryan about the issue. Not by choice, but to explain my recent frustration so he could attempt to understand, or at least know why things have felt distant lately between the two of us. Truthfully, I got the idea about facing and coping with the wall of sadness from Ryan, as he told me a few weeks ago that I couldn't move into a shelter just because of tension in my current living situation, as my mom is staying with me and my brother, indefinitely.

LIZ: I know I'm 26, but when I'm around her I still feel like a juvenile little girl.
RYAN: Well you're not. You're both adults. You have to address your issues with
her staying in the house and how you raise Adam.
LIZ: Can't I just move into a shelter instead? You know, start over fresh and build
something from the ground up for me and Adam on my own.
RYAN: No.

So I took his advice and asked for more hours Starbucks in order to save up money to either move Adam and I out on our own, or to buy a new car in a few months. In other words I've set up my [hopefully] temporary residence at the wall of sadness while I make and/or wait for my depression to subside. I've got to admit, the scenery near the wall of sadness is barren and mundane. Every morning I wake up and get ready for work, I have to pep talk myself into a good mood. It's a nagging feeling, this depression, and makes me feel like a complete mess most of the time. Once my day actually starts, I stay in pep talk mode and keep myself calm since I increased my cigarette intake to roughly a pack of cigarettes a day. I also started taking my lunch breaks at work to give myself extra time to smoke and allowing me a break from the forced chipper-ness I have to play at work.

When I get off work, I come home and try to stay out of my mother's way and spend time with Adam. After Adam goes to sleep my stress chases me wildly, forcing me to climb the wall of sadness. Then just before bed, I repeat the same pep talk I give my myself in the morning, and reassure my psyche that it will have time to rest for a few hours if I sleep. Half the time I'm telling my brain the truth and I sleep through the night. The other half of the time I'm a complete pathological liar and I wake up in the middle of the night from night terrors and nightmares.

RYAN: I feel completely disrespected you think I'm a liar and you still think that I don't love you. Look, I'm not one of your druggie, loser ex-boyfriends! And I know that you've never been with a real man before but...
LIZ: I don't think you're a liar. I just have some problems I'm trying to work out on my own.
RYAN: Your problems are my problems.
LIZ: Well then...we have a lot of problems.

Despite the other half of the time, hanging around the wall of sadness has made me a more honest individual. I know this because I'm slowly learning how to openly admit to my plague of depression. Coping with it isn't fun, but at least I've gained some sort of handle on it instead of running from it. Trust me, I'd much rather be hanging out at a different wall, like the Great Wall of China or even the torn down Berlin Wall.

Maybe if I spend enough time around my wall of sadness, I can figure out a way to turn it into something great, like art or tear it down altogether?

Until then my stagnant wall of sadness will stand.

July 5, 2010

In the shower this afternoon, I came to an exciting revelation! My decision to hang around the wall of sadness and deal with it was part of the final stages of grief, helping me to move on with my life. It's not so much sadness, but rather the stage called ACCEPTANCE. I suppose you could say that I haven't been grieving solely the loss of other people in the past 365 days, but I've been grieving my own death as well.

Standing naked in the shower, I closed my eyes as I leaned into the warm water falling from the shower head and rinsed out the shampoo from my hair. When I opened my eyes, I looked at my surroundings and for a moment, I was so completely lost in thought, I didn't recognize where I was at. I surveyed the shower liner and the blurry view outside of my cubed glass bathroom window. I pulled the shower curtain back and looked down at the brick red tiled floor. Slightly startled, I quickly shut the curtain and searched for the conditioner bottle, hurried through the lather, rinse, repeat routine and turned off the shower. Then I stepped out of the bath tub and grabbed the green towel off the edge of my sink and immediately wiped off the steam from the bathroom mirror.

I finally realized who I was and where I was, now.

I am no longer the naive little girl who built her life around tragedies and dangerous situations and people. Despite the fact that I grew up around these things doesn't mean I have to continue to emulate them in my life. Just because something is familiar, predictable and comfortable doesn't make it safe. Happiness can be found in the depths of the unknown. You just have to have the courage to face it all, the light and the dark, and embrace it to the fullest.

So where do I go from here, now that the wall of sadness has been knocked down?

I have no idea.

I can ACCEPT that.

Is this a dream?
You ask and I don't say anything
Because this may be
A dream.
And we come to this place
Like two convicts that have escaped
From the prison of everyday
And for the moment we'll have our stay
--Drilling/ Minus the Bear

There's a reason[s] & Weather it out

2010-07-01T12:28:00.000-07:00

MONDAY JUNE 28, 2010

It's been a good minute since I've written. There's a reason[s].

What started out as a bad day a month ago turned into a bad week[s]. Let's see, first there was the public meltdown at work, then an attempted break-up with Ryan. Then there was the wall of sadness which also came along with writer's block, which is a serious ailment in the writing world comparable only to contracting the AIDS virus.. In an effort to start feeling better and get past the block, I decided to start counseling two weeks ago. The counseling session turned out to be a wasted hour of my life I'll never be able to recover.

I considered the time wasted time because the counselor told me everything I already knew. As she talked I couldn't help but assume she believed I was an idiot because she tried to convince me to apply for grant money from the organization she works with. This "grant money" set aside was awarded to those who were forced to relocate due to tragic situations in their lives. This sounds like a great program for people who truly need financial help with their moving costs, but I'm not one of those people.

"Are you fucking kidding me?! " I asked, then informed her, "I'm already on that because I'm writing a memoir so I don't need your money. I just need someone to listen and help me try to understand why I feel like shit. You know, someone to help me find some direction because obviously I'm lost."

Her response; "Wow. You write?"

I wanted to put my mouth around the barrel of a gun and pull the trigger at that point. Since there wasn't a gun in sight, I put her voice on mute and watched her lips move. If she wasn't going to listen to me I wanted to return the favor. It was like watching the crappiest silent movie. Nothing was truly accomplished and as I walked out of her office, I felt even more disappointed and defeated. I decided to stop fighting with my depression and surrendered to any and all of the above feelings, no matter how amazing or negative they were.

With that choice, I found the start of a familiar walk down a hopeless, shocking, self-loathing path I'd already been down. This path AKA Memory Lane included the all too familiar intersection at Night Terrors on Elm Street.

Walking down Memory Lane, I came across a new road I wasn't familiar with; Frustration. This feeling of frustration came from the anger within myself I've harbored. Anger rooted in confusion as to why I suddenly felt miserable when I came back from Oklahoma in May 2010, when this depression began . I mean, I can deal with being depressed as long as I understand why I feel that way. But feeling like someone suddenly died when someone[s] died 365 days ago? That made no sense to me. "Why am I still so upset?" I asked myself, "And why now?! What the hell is wrong with me?!" There wasn't an answer in sight to my un-rhetorical questions, so after trying out Frustration Road, I made a U-turn and headed back down Memory Lane.

So that's why I haven't written lately. I've been too busy running down Memory Lane hoping to find a rest stop, a new road to travel down, or an end to the road itself. Any end; either the beginning of a new path or a DEAD end.

On Monday I stood waiting at a crosswalk light after work. I watched the traffic go by; the SUVs and 2010 model cars zooming past me without remorse. Then it began to sprinkle.The drizzle turned into rain pouring from the sky as the crosswalk light signaled my turn to cross. I stepped out onto the street not paying attention until I heard honking at me. I and smiled and waved at the driver who nearly hit me with his car. He smiled back at me and I read his lips, "I'm sorry." I gushed back to him, "It's okay." Secretly, in that moment, I wished the car hydroplaned and hit me so I could take a break from the world, or at least from work for a week, and not be blamed or held accountable for my absence[s].

Once I reached the other side, I looked up at the sky to watch the water fall from the puffy grey watercolor clouds. The pouring rain covered my glasses' lenses so I took them off. I continued to stare up at the sky and let the waterfall wash over my bare, eyes open. I realized I was smiling slightly still and now I was entirely drenched in rain. Walking home in the rain from a long day at work was another one of those ridiculous situations I find myself in almost daily. Where most people would consider this a bad day, I found comfort in the familiarity of an unfortunate circumstance outside of my control. While most people would choose to find an alternate route or hide under shelter to wait the storm out, I faced it all the way home.

I trudged through the rain puddles, playfully kicking at the pools of water with my feet. I felt the coolness of the water between my toes, over my head and on my back through my soaked polo shirt. The unfortunate-ness of the inclement weather on my walk home was a surprise detour on my journey down Memory Lane. I stopped running so I could experience the rain and mild temperatures, which were welcomed changes from the summer hear and humidity.

The experience humbled me and veered me off Memory Lane. I was reminded of where I am NOW and who I am TODAY. Drenched in THE PRESENT, I felt immersed in strength and the chance to still be alive, to be able to laugh at the typical situation of being forced to walk home in the rain. This was a far cry from any stress I felt in the past.

When I got home and walked up the stairs, dripping water from my hair, my brother asked, "Why didn't you just call me for a ride home?"

"I think I needed to walk in the rain." I told him.

There's a reason[s]

TUESDAY JUNE 29, 2010
At least my writer's block has been cured, and that's a start.

After walking home in the rain the other day, I thought that I was going to go to sleep that night and wake up to a clear sky and a clear head. I was half right, it wasn't raining anymore. But as I pulled back the curtains on my bedroom window after I woke up, I noticed rain clouds still hanging around, though they were scattered and allowed patches of the blue sky backdrop to show through.

"Maybe it will rain today, maybe it won't?" I said to myself as I turned on the shower.

After my morning shower, I spent some time with Adam, then headed into work. I noticed the clouds beginning to clear out even more throughout the day, but I couldn't completely shake the somber feelings I've had for the past month. "Is everything okay?" my co-worker Amanda asked me. Her question caught me off guard, as I was stood in front of the bar, staring out of the window. I noticed my transparent reflection in the thick glass. She had reason to ask me questions. My face's reflection communicated the standard, "someone-just-died", look. Even I wanted to ask the ghostly image in front me if everything was okay.

"Yeah, I'm just tired", I told her, "its been a long week." I reassured her.

I've mastered the, "Yeah, I'm just tired, its been a long week", response. It's part the of the choice I've made to cope and learn how to adapt to the uncontrollable climate changes in my life. Before this year, I always ran from my feelings and my problems, sometimes relocating away from them entirely. In serious circumstances, like in 2009, this was necessary. My recent depression is far from serious and doesn't qualify for such a dramatic response this time. I would compare this feeling to hearing Linkin Park over and over and over on the radio; repetitive, uninspiring and slightly annoying. The only difference is that on the radio, you can turn the tuner dial and take your chances on finding another station that doesn't play crappy music.

We don't have that luxury with our lives. We can't simply turn from one life we're living to a completely different one in seconds. Even the action of scanning radio stations constantly gets repetitive. We make do with our trial version of time on this planet AKA our life, and make the best...or worst of it, until the trial period is over.

Though I'm fully aware of the impermanence of life and the events we experience while alive, I'd still give anything to stop feeling the same dread I wake up and go to bed with every night. Well almost anything, I wouldn't give my life for peace of mind because how would I get to experience peace of mind if I didn't have a life?

What's even more disheartening is that lately, music hasn't appealed to me. This is how I know I'm still hanging around the wall of sadness. I LOVE music. So for me to get into the car, scanning radio stations, not hearing a single song that remotely interests me, that's a red flag that something isn't right within my life. Because no matter what, music has always been there to help me get through the best...and worst of it. Suddenly, my one and only can't even save me or soothe me during the duration of this trip.

So without running from it, but not talking about it, and not turning to music, my options to get through whatever negative feelings I've had recently are all exhausted. I don't know what to do at this point except to weather it out.

"Maybe it will rain today, maybe it won't?"