“Spiteful words can hurt your feelings but silence breaks your heart.”

Adam destroyed Eve with silence.

When the serpent enticed Eve to eat of the forbidden fruit, Adam was there at her side. The original Hewbrew text describes him as "elbow to elbow" with her. The seprent tempted Eve, and she relented. And Adam did nothing. He stood in silence and allowed her to bring about the fall of man.

"Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worse kind of suffering." - Paul Coelho

Goodbye hurts. That's the way of things. But the lack of a goodbye...that's a wound that won't heal. It bleeds and bleeds, while the wounded lies caught between the need to let go and the hope that perhaps, someday, letting go won't be necessary.

Total eclipse of the heart.

Who watched the eclipse last night?

I was not overly enthused about the notion of dragging my aching ass out of bed at 1:45 in the morning to go out into the cold. But - once in a lifetime! How could I pass that up for something so fleeting as sleep?

1:45 found me in my flannel pjs, with an extra pair of pants over, a hoodie, and my coat, out on the cold concrete with my roommate, faces turned to the sky as the moon turned a coppery red. We made cocoa and watched for almost an hour.

And at that moment all over the world, friends and strangers were under the same sky, faces turned upward, watching this same celestial event with the same awe and wonder.

In this, I see God.

Happy, joyous, and free.

90 days sober today!

I am overwhelmed with blessings.

So many friends who fill my life with joy, love, and laughter.
An amazing roommate who helps me almost daily with my faith.
A patient and loving Father who is all too happy to manage the life I failed so spectacular at managing myself.
A good job with some of the finest people I have ever known.
An incredible family, and we'll all be together again within a year!

For the first time in my life, I know that no matter what happens, I will be okay, so long as I trust myself to God's care.

"This is a day I'll feel good to be me."

Can't boil water without burning a few angels.

My second week in the new place, and already a kitchen fire.

My tub drains slow. We poured some de-clogger down the drain. I put a pot of water on to boil.

Moments later, my roommate says "What's that sound?"

"I spilled a little water on the stovetop, it's just burning off."

"Um...are you sure?"

I go to investigate - and there's brown smoke billowing into the kitchen.

I turned on the wrong burner. Not the one with the teapot on it, but the one behind it. The one with the ceramic angel candle holder.

The house still smells AWFUL.

FailCat ahoy.

Freefall.

My stomach hurts all the time, no matter how the rest of me feels. I know it's an ulcer (I'm prone to them at times of high stress, this is my third) but it's also that feeling you get on roller coasters, at that moment when gravity takes hold of your outards but hasn't quite reached your innards. That freefalling sensation. I get chest pains, too. Like right now. Tachycardia - rapid heart rate. And my hands shake. Sometimes a little, sometimes enough that I have trouble holding onto things.

This isn't life on the edge, it's life in the air. There's no balance, only the freefall. And I KNOW there's a net at the bottom to catch me. There always is. I will be okay, just as I've always been okay.

But I'm not okay yet, and that's taking its toll.

I'm still suffering from the loss of my beloved Cadence - a wound that will never heal properly due to lack of closure. A wound inflicted by a man I thought I could trust.

I still feel kind of homeless. I'm living in someone else's home, what few possessions I have with me in bags or boxes, the remainder still in a place I no longer feel comfortable.

My poor Twinkie doesn't know what to think. First abused, then kicked out with his sister, then back home without her, and now living alone in a garage, seeing me only once or twice a day.

And just Tuesday I received some very bad news, unrelated to all the chaos of the last two weeks, but of the "Oh shit, what am I going to do now?" variety.

These things will work themselves out. God is with me, as are my friends. I will be fine, as I always have been.

But Lord, I'm sick of falling.

Take these broken wings and learn to fly.

Dear Robin,

I had a tuna salad sandwich today, and it SUCKED - you taught me that tuna salad sandwiches are all about rye bread and fresh ground pepper. Remember that? Or macaroni and cheese with WAY too much butter? Or watching every Leo DiCaprio movie we could find? Or the guys who mooned us on Senior Ditch Day?

Remember when you told Liz you were worried about me - that you thought I had a drinking problem?

Well, you were right.

I wish I could have seen it then. I wish I could have turned TO you. Instead I turned FROM you.

I'm so sorry, Robin. I'm sorry I shut you out. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me.

I don't think I'll ever stop feeling guilty. I know that your death wasn't my fault...but I'll never stop believing that I could have prevented it. You always seemed to be better when I was around. I think it's because we weren't afraid to be broken, like the other girls who put on such tough fronts. We could be weak together.

I wish you could see me now. I wish I didn't feel like this is too little, too late.

I remember when I was so sick, and you jogged all the way to my house with Monty. I remember when you took me to see Prince and we fed him apples. I remember Senior Prom.

I remember how bright and sweet and beautiful you were.

I miss you, girlie.

Love,
Jacki

Sixty days sober!

Happy 60 day sobriety birthday to me!

Let me just say this:

The first thirty days were, with a few notable exceptions, mostly sunshine and bunnies.

The second thirty days were, with a few notable exceptions, a real bitch.

But here's me, feeling better than ever. How naive of me to think it would always be easy! What worth having is ever easy? I have learned to trust God - because no matter how bad things have gotten, haven't they always been okay in the end? I'm a fighter, always have been. No matter how tough this gets, I can be tougher.

When you can't run, you crawl. And when you can't do that, you find someone to carry you.

Thank God for my friends, who carry me when I can't find the strength to run. I love you guys.

Boy-crazy.

In addition to a drinking problem, I suffer from a man problem.

It's so embarrassingly cliché:
[abandonment by father] + [sexual abuse] + [low self-esteem] = promiscuity!

Of course, promiscuity is a broad term.

At any rate, boys. I tend to need them. To an embarrassing degree. I went back over my old entries and was embarrassed by how many were about boys.

Fortunately, that's not really an issue right now!

We are not allowed to date in the early stages of recovery. And I don't even WANT to. I'm too much a mess right now, I can't handle the pressure of someone making demands of me.

I have a video game boyfriend (I <3 Alistair) thanks to Dragon Age: Origins, and that's all the romance I want!

Although...

I was talking to a friend the other day...a guy. One I had a real shot with, til I got drunk and blew it. And I realized that he was the last good guy in my life. And I threw it away.

Maybe someday...when I'm less of a mess...oh, who knows.

Changing my middle name.

My middle name is Mabel. After my paternal grandmother. I used to hate it, but it's kind of grown on me.

HOWEVER.

Here's a story. And like all good stories, it starts...in a bathroom!

One day, I'm brushing my teeth, and out of nowhere I get a text from Helveck, who is not just my best friend but my actual hombre, which is a type of piñata. Also, he's Canadian.

The text said -

- are you ready for this? -

- "I demand you change your middle name to Maple."

If you've ever tried to brush your teeth while laughing hysterically, you can probably picture the next five minutes. For the rest of you, I'll just say that there was toothpaste foam EVERYWHERE.

If I did it legally and officially, he'll even make me an Honourary Canadian.

So, let's weigh my options here:

Pros:
1) Honourary Canadian!!!
2) Relieving myself of the burden of being named after someone who disowned me.
3) It's kind of an adventure!
4) Maple is a variety of BACON.

Cons:
1) Costs about $175.
2) Lots of paperwork.
3) Could cause some kind of legal complication at some point down the road.

As we review, let me draw your attention to Pro #4, which pertains to bacon.

Thoughts?

I honestly don't know how I survive the hazards of daily life.

Let me begin by telling you that I'm short.

SO short, that once upon a time when I was skinny, I could by my jeans in the Juniors section, and even if I bought the Short length, they'd still drag the ground, which is how my mother ended up calling me Smurf for the REST OF MY NATURAL LIFE.

I digress. This post is not about Smurves, mothers, or jeans.

It's about a heating pad.

I needed it, to prep a patient for an IV. So I went to the lab to get it.

There it was. At the very back of the highest shelf. Miles above my smurfy head.

The shorter of the two lab girls - slightly shorter than me, even! - laced her fingers together as if to give me a boost. Not for a second did she think I'd actually try it.

Not for a second did I hesitate.

I'd like to blame it on the earliness of the hour, or the unfinished state of my first soda of the day, but let's be real here - I'm just a great pile of derp. I grabbed the counter, placed my foot on her interlaced hands, and attmpted to launch myself skyward.

I must have made some kind of progress, because as I fell back down I whacked my ass on the edge of the counter which is slightly above waist-high to me. I grabbed the shelf under my target shelf to stabilize myself, somehow managing to not strew its contents all over me, my poor assistant, and the lab. We were miraculously unharmed.

The heating pad was unsurprisingly un-grabbed.

It was not my best day ever.

Chubby girls with short legs can hike, too!

Aaron and I went hiking at Kanopolis State Park on Saturday.

Not only was it awesome, but I didn't die!

We got a MUCH later start than we planned, on account of my uncanny ability to sleep in. It was probably aaround 1 when we got up there.

First stop: Mushroom Rock. It's actually two collections of rocks on either side of the road. It was pretty cool. The bathroom was disgusting - I got my 50 in hovering.

Next stop: Faris Caves. They are small, man-made, and full of water. I was disappoint. I wanted to get my spelunk on.

On our way back to the main road, we passed a gang standoff. There were cows on one side of the road and horses on the other. They looked pissed. What I REALLY wanted was to pet a cow, but the cows were standoffish and the horses were not. So I was willing to settle for petting a horse. Then another horse came over, so I was petting TWO HORSES AT ONCE! It was very exciting, can you tell?

The REAL hike was through Horsethief Canyon. There's a little creek that runs through, and the stone walls are COVERED in carvings...now including a "Suck It Joeski" - WorkPLace represent! At one point we saw a cave on the other side of the creek...so we pushed through the brush (much of which was thorny), crossed the creek, and climbed up to the cave. It was deep enough to crawl into, but not so deep that someone standing at the mouth couldn't still see you. We had a nice bit of a sitdown there.

The latter half of the hike was crappy. Literally. Because we were on a horse trail. Aaron says I got my 50 in dodging horse poop! We did find this epic towery kind of rock jutting up from the bottom of the canyon, and I won't discuss HOW he got there, but I've got pictures of him on it.

When we got back to the car, I was amazed I was still alive. We were taking a breather when we heard - a wild Galaga! If anyone knows what kind of bird has a call that sounds JUST like Galaga, please share.

On the way home, we stopped in Lindsborg, a.k.a. The Borg, a.k.a. Little Sweden. I mention this for one reason: fake horses. I dunno what it is, but there are horse statues all over town, mostly the same shape but painted differently. Our favorite was the one outside the bank, which has horns and wears athletic shoes. We got a picture of me on it...then we saw the "Please Keep Off" warnings. Oops.

Fake babies, or - Yes, I'm THAT crazy.

It started in a bathroom.

My first night at PAX, we all headed up to our room, and discovered that even though OJ requested a smoking room, ours was not one. UNACCEPTABLE. So we grabbed our bags and headed for the door, but OJ instructed us to grab the towels since our room would be over capacity that night. So Shane and I go into the bathroom to wrangle the towels, and I didn't turn on the light, but in wrestling with the towels and my luggage I accidently shut the door, and it was dark, and we crashed into each other. When we finally escaped the bathroom, I looked at him with wide eyes and said "I think I'm pregnant."

This struck me as incredibly funny. (Maybe it was all the alcohol.) I ran with it all weekend, explaining that I wanted an epic souvenir from PAX and I figured a lovechild was the best idea ever. There is even a viddeo of me washing dishes in the hotel room to prove my domesticity so Shane would marry me. I decided to name the baby Thane, and I hope he has Shane's mad gaming skills and my ballsiness (which is a story for another post.)

Fast forward to...oh, I don't know. Earlier this week, I think. Killane sent me pictures of his sons. Inspiration hits - he produces very cute sons. I want one of these. I ask him to get me pregnant. Maranda grants permission. Success!

After some discussion, we decide the insemination will occur at PAX 2012, since I promised my coworker R that I'd have a baby in 2013. I'll name this one Kaidan John. R says with my luck, this one will be a girl.

I hope not. I'm holding out for a little Chinese girl!

Love comes in a lot of forms.

I've always been terribly dependent on others. I need constant reassurance that I am loved and valued. I can't help it, it's my nature.

Lately I have been trying to convince myself that my memories are proof that my friends love me, even if they don't always have time to show it.

What better way to help myself do that than to make a list of some of my favorite memories?

* Wearing matching shirts half a continent apart because WE know we match.

* Being someone's hombre - then deciding that an hombre is probably a type of piñata, thereby making me someone's piñata.

* Forcing someone to be an accesory to theft from a federal building.

* Comparing a vacuum cleaner to Darth Vader (for reasons you can't even imagine).

* Cheesecake with so much extra whipped cream that it overpowers the cheesecake.

* Lying on a pile of beanbags, eating homemade cookies.

* A delivery of Coke in glass bottles during a two hour wait.

* Camping out in hotel hallways.

* Holding hands and skipping.

* Fine cigars while half-watching people play pool.

* Standing in the cold and rain, swapping mom jokes.

* Alien theories.

* Ending marital discord by eating the last pancake.

* Defending a flag that doesn't exist.

* Elevator wrestling matches.

* Big dramatic hellos and goodbyes.

* Ballet lessons on the street - and criticism.

* Trying to explain a churro.

* Hitting the Mickey D's drive-thru on foot at 2 AM.

The crap dance.

I recently read this on Simon Pegg's twitter:
"After Minnie's morning poop, she does this "burying it" dance with her back legs. I'm stood there with a bag, all like, 'I got this, dude.'"

And I realized that pretty much sums up my relationship with God.

All the kicking and dancing and struggling I do to deal with my shit is just me getting in God's way, and He's waiting there to take care of it.

And that's how I finished my third step on my 30 day birthday.

Which is good, because my sponsor wants me through four and five before I leave for Thanksgiving. Eep! But, by the grace of God, it shall be done.

Everything I ever let go had claw marks on it.

I have been SO emo lately.

I had a pretty good - pretty UP - week, then crashed.

It's so hard to let go of the things that hurt me. I decided to try and let someone go on Friday, and that decision is like a knife in my heart. I don't want to let go, don't want to HAVE to let go. I want our friendship to rise above the complications of our past. I want to be able to share our struggles, to lean on each other, to enjoy the progress we are each making as people.

I don't want to face the fact that my friend has become a stranger to me. That the damage I've done can't be repaired. That we were unable to last the long dark night and will never get to see the sunrise.

And the sun IS coming up. I can see the sky starting to lighten already. If only the person I was didn't blow my chance at showing my friend the person I'm becoming.

I should have taken the blue pill!

Monday night, I had a crazy dream. It was so real and so vivid that I was completely lost when I woke up.

I was in California. It was beautiful, must have been Spring. I was visiting my friends. I remember being on my phone, arguing with my mom that I didn't have time to come visit her, and then jumping out from around the corner to surprise her. Then we climbed some spiral staircase and had lunch.

This is where it starts to get intense. I was with my friend Aaron. He took me to this place where there was a hammock overlooking a valley full of yellow wildflowers.I remember the press of the hammock against my bare arm, the warmth of his arms around me, the smell of his cologne and the faint but present smell of his cigarettes. Everything was so THERE. He asked me to marry him. I said yes. We celebrated with our friends, we moved in together.

One day we're sitting at the table, I'm looking at wedding magazines. I can remember the taste of my coffee, the weight of the cup, the grain of the wood, the angle at which the sun was streaming through the windows. Suddenly, I could hear a woman's voice. He couldn't hear it. It kept getting louder. I stood up - and I was in the valley of wildflowers, and the sky is dark, and I can still hear the voice.

It's a woman's voice, cold and detached. It sounds as if she's speaking to someone else, talking about something I don't understand, something technical. I can't remember what she said at all. Only that it terrified me, and that I KNEW I was crazy.

Then I woke up. Lost. Shaking and drenched in sweat. I couldn't figure out why I was in my "old" room when I don't live there anymore. I could picture every detail of my bedroom in my dream, although I don't ever remember seeing it. It took about ten minutes for me to sort out reality.

The best laid plans...well, you know.

I've actually been avoiding this place because I was supposed to blog about PAX and I haven't. I still will. I have a ton of great memories from the trip that I both want to share and to get down in text. But there's something else to talk about first.

My name is Jacki and I'm an alcoholic.

People have been on me about my drinking to various degrees for some time now. I'm blessed to have a friend in the program in Detroit. One day he told me "Call me when you hit step one." I had to google that.

One night I was at the bar - drunk - and texting with my best friend. He said "We're gonna have a talk tomorrow, missy." I insisted that we go ahead and talk, and he told me I drink too much (among other things). And since everything seems so simple when I'm drunk, I said "Okay, I'll quit drinking!"

When I sobered up, I discovered something horrifying. I discovered I literally CANNOT picture my life without alcohol. I contacted my friend in Detroit. I said "My life has become unmanageable." He found meetings for me.

I've been sober for 13 days today. I've been to a meeting every night for a week. I feel so blessed that this program exists. Every night I get to have my hope, faith, and strength renewed, I get to learn, I get to spend an hour or so with people who genuinely care about my struggle because it is also theirs, and they are helping me the way others helped them, the way I will someday help others.

I don't really know who I am without alcohol. But I'm excited to find out. And I know that whoever I am is better than who I had become.

PAX peeps recap!

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PAX lines.

I'm not in a position to start recapping PAX properly, so i'm using this space for a collection of one-liners and snippets.

"Sexy Canadian sandwich!"

"Cat thinks Pope is HAWT."

"Quit talking about bacon when I'm trying to make a video!"

"Are you about to get awesome?"

"Why the fuck is there no beer on the kids menu???"

"It's called coke and rum, not fuck, you're dumb."

"Dude, I named her cat."

"Get your blowjob card punched!"

"You - get back here!"

"We gotta find Cat's shoes!"

"PENIS is my FAVORITE!"

"We're not gonna be sad."

"It's a dildo donut."

"It's long. Looong."

"Semen enema?"

"Could you press three too for us please?"

"Are you gonna go get a sweater?"

"Gang into it?"

To be continued...

And all the roads we have to walk are winding, and all the lights that lead us there are blinding.

We had it so good.

It was the most awesome first date. Watching turtles at the arboretum. Sunset over the lake. Walking, just walking. Eating popsicles. The hissing from the bushes - I leapt back, actually lept, and he swept me behind him, protecting me from... the sprinklers. But it COULD have been a rabid animal! We went back to my shuttle, I made popcorn and watched Zim. We must have played three movies, and just talked through all of them. He put his arm around me. "Are you gonna kiss me?" And he did.

Tom's going away party, with all his friends. Double rainbow in the car, all four of us. Sitting on his lap singing Journey. Beer pong in the basement and I broke a couple bottles. "It's okay, I'm just drunk! I'm just drunk!" Dancing - "For drunk and clumsy you're really pretty good!" Happy Meals and Zim and falling asleep on the couch.

Animonday - anime and plum wine, holding hands on the couch.

Who could say no to all that? He's hurting. We're ALL hurting, aren't we? Joy is the cure for pain. Not quarantine.

Tomorrow I'll be 2000 miles away, having the time of my life with some of my favorite people. But suddenly that matters not half as much as knowing he said we could do dinner on his birthday next week.

Teach me how to NOT go all in, for once.

I believe that no matter what you see, underneath, there's a beautiful new me.

My wieght has become a topic of debate lately.

Specifically, I get yelled at for referring to myself as chubby.

Let's be clear here: I weigh about 145 pounds. That's down ten from my all-time high this past spring, but still almost 20 from my pre-Kansas weight of 117.

I'd like to lose another ten pounds. But I'm not obsessed with it. Hell, I'm not even working at it at the moment. I had pizza and Mt Dew for lunch.

When I was skinny, it was effortless. I ate a junk food diet and never exercised. Once I gained, I discovered that eating right and working my butt off only got me so far. Probably why I wimped out of that routine.

But y'know what? I've NEVER been so comfortable with my body as I am now. I'm guessing it's because I've grown up a lot in the time that I was also filling out. I appreciate my own beauty, extra baggage or no. I still intend to lose these extra ten pounds and fit back into some of my skinnier clothes, but until then...I'm rocking what I've got.

Listen, all of y'all, it's a sabotage.

This time, we both agreed I'm the right girl; part of him just thinks it's the wrong time. All of me and part of him tried to point out the mistake he's making, but you know how it is - we all have to learn the hard way.

I left Wichita around 1 AM and knew I stood no chance at sleep. I decided it was a good night for a walk and a good chance to get some closure, since I'd just dreamed about Matt again the night before. I went home and got his necklace, then headed back to Newton to throw it in the river. Robert ended up joining me and Randy met us there.

Part of it turned into an epic adventure. We hit the McDonald's drive-thru on foot - and they let us! While we were standing around waiting, a car pulled up with Beastie Boys blaring out the windows. What could I do but dance???

Food consumed, we headed back to the riverwalk and ultimately to the car. But long before we reached the car, something ridiculous and unexpected happened.

Matt texted me.

He was "feeling kinda down" and wanted some company. And I'm a sucker. So the boys and I parted ways and I drove out to the country to aqcuire my very drunk ex-boyfriend and take him back to the river with me.

It was strange, but not entirely unpleasant. We talked about a lot of things, even about our failed relationship a little. He insisted I hang out at his house when I took him home - he played some bass and sang a couple songs he'd written. Finally I had to go home before I fell asleep on his couch.

Less than three hours of sleep later, and still in my Friday Night Clothes, I went to work. God bless energy drinks.

Why is my life so bizarre?

What is wrong with people? Besides...y'know...a LOT.

A friend of mine took me to lunch Wednesday. We tried the new Mexican place in the next town over.

Our waiter invaded my personal space and pressed his arm against my breast a few times. After he walked away, my friend said "I can't believe he just did that." But because the ENTIRE staff was young and male, I didn't feel comfortable saying anything, so I didn't.

I did, however, tell my best friends. And they made jokes about it.

A man touched my body in a way that made me feel uncomfortable. How is that funny? Woulkd it be funny if it happened to them? Or their teenage daughters?

I'm a leaf on the wind.

I used to be consumed by envy and longing.

You know how it is. You see a happy couple or even a group of friends and you bitterly think "Why can't that be me?"

When I go to the park I usually spread my blanket out in a big circle of trees. There's gaps in the trees and picnic tables scattered through the grass; there's a good view of the park but also a sense of seclusion and solitude.

On Wednesday, a young couple had pulled one of the picnic tables into the shelter of the trees and hid there behind low-hanging branches. Through one of the breaks in the treeline I could see a group of teenagers playing frisbee. Through another, parents and children on the playground.

I felt blessed.

In a world with so much ugliness, I had the privilege of witnessing these moments of beauty. And perhaps someone was witnessing my own moment of beauty, stretched out on my blanket, savoring the sun and my book.

We quest for love. We yearn for it, thirst for it. We long to be part of something beautiful.

We ARE part of something beautiful. Look at the people around you. I look at my incredible sister, my friends, my beautiful nieces. All the people who bless my life. I'm a part of them, just as they're a part of me. What's more beautiful than that?

It's cool, I'm taking it back.

Yesterday was the perfect day to lay in the sun and read a book, so I did exactly that.

It was the first time I'd been to that park since Matt broke up with me there.

"You ruined this place for me," he had said; "I won't even be able to drive by here anymore." But he moved away. Hours away, where he doesn't have to cross the river and remember all the time we spent walking along it together.

People constantly move the picnic benches around at the park, so I'll never be sure which one is the one. The one where he sang "Love Hurts (but sometimes it's a good hurt)," the one where he held me tight and made me promise not to cry, the one where he kissed me goodbye and I saw the look in his eyes and realized it was hurting him too.

I'm going to throw the necklace into the river. Maybe it'll keep me from dreaming about him again.

I'm alright. I really am.

Y'know what they say about plans, eh?

We broke up. It happens. He just wasn't as into me as I was to him. Eventually we'll be friends. In the meantime, I made two amazing new friends through him. Everything happens for a reason.

I moved in with a really good friend of mine...next door. Physically, I didn't go far, but it's a huge change. For one thing, everything from my spacious bedroom and modest living room at my old place is now crammed in my small bedroom. For another, I'm sharing my space with another person again, after more than a year on my own.

And y'know what? It's pretty cool. We're both saving a bunch of money, and I'm so lucky to have someone I can trust this much. Not to mention someone willing to put up with my kittens.

Humans are naturally social creatures, and as much as I loved being on my own, it's kinda nice to have someone to share leftover cake with, too.

Speaking of cake, my birthday was awesome.

Life is sweet.

Feeding the wolves.

A Cherokee elder was teaching his grandchildren about life. He said to them, "A fight is going on inside me...it is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves.
One wolf represents fear, anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.
The other stands for joy, peace, love, hope, sharing, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, friendship, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith.
This same fight is going on inside you, and inside every other person, too", he added.

The Grandchildren thought about it for a minute and then one child asked his grandfather, "Which wolf will win?"

The old Cherokee simply replied... "The one you feed."

Let's be honest - we know which wolf we usually feed. We feed the one that growls the loudest, the one that snaps at our hands. We feed it to keep it at bay while the other wolf quietly starves, trying to live off leftovers and table scraps.

We give the best of ourselves to the lesser part of our nature until it devours us. We cheat ourselves and everyone around us.

Oddly enough, this is the song that came on while I was typing this:
"We are the ones who lost our faith. We dug ourselves an early grave. We are the dead, can we be saved?"

I know that this can be more than just flashing lights and sounds.

How can someone, in a week and a half's time, learn more about me than I know about myself?

It makes sense when I think about it. That's what dating is about - scrutinizing the other person, learning about not just what they show you but what lies around the corner from those things. And he's perceptive - it's one of the things I dig about him.

He pointed out that most of my friends are older, and he felt that it influences me too much, that I let it make me feel older than I am and consequently worry about dating a guy two years younger than me.

I called bullshit. If I act older than I am, it's because I had to grow up fast. And if I'm worried about dating a younger guy, it's probably because my ex-husband was younger.

But I realized he's right.

I've been SO consumed with wanting "a future" with a husband and kids. Since when??? When I got married I NEVER intended to have kids. But when the maternal instincts really started kicking in - for a variety of reasons - I let it run way too deeply. After all, I'm almost 27, I'm SUPPOSED to want to be a wife and mother, right?

Don't get me wrong, I still do. But I don't want those things NOW! I love having my own time, my own space, my freedom. I've been so focused on this future that I forgot how much I love the present.

I've been chasing things beyond my control. There's too many factors involved in this future that I can't influence, when what I can influence is ME. And no matter how much I want a family of my own, what I want more than anything is to NEVER SETTLE for less than what I want.

So now, I have this guy, and he's amazing. At first glance he seems to meet none of the standards I set. He's younger than me, he's reckless, he's wild. But he challenges me. And he gets me. And I love the way I feel when I'm with him.

So I'm throwing caution to the wind. I can continue the exhausting chase for this elusive future, or I can run with the good things I have right now. I think I'd be a fool if I didn't choose the latter.

Not my proudest of moments.

I drank on an empty stomach last night. Yeah, I know - I know better than that. I wasn't all that hungry and it was one of those moments when life seemed to be happening too fast to worry about stuff like food. Some of it was funny. Some of it wasn't.

I got hit with firecracker shrapnel. So, secret achievement unlocked?

I went on my first Harley ride! After swearing so emphatically for all these years that while I love to look I'd never touch, I did it. And it was awesome. And the whole time I was thinking "Dad's gonna be so pissed."

At some point - a very hazy point - I decided I needed to talk to my sister. I don't remember where I was or what I was doing when the idea struck but I grabbed my phone and took off down the road. Barefoot. And I was crying and rambling and more of a mess than she should have to deal with - but I said so many things I hadn't been able to until then and I'm glad I did.

I learned things about myself I didn't really want to know. But, knowledge is power and I'm glad to have it. Now the question is, what will I do with this knowledge? I have choices to make - about the life I have, the life I want, about who I am and who I want to be.

Narcolepsy wins.

I wanted to do some DIY-therapy today. It's been too long since I've put my hands to work. I have a few pieces of wood waiting for inspiration and woodburning to strike, a few blank canvases, and among other things, a sack full of leather scraps with no purpose as of yet.

Of course, the house needs cleaning, too. And I have a month to organize/downsize before I give up my place and move into my buddy's spare bedroom.

AND I've really wanted to play through Mass Effect and Fallout 3 again.

But...it's not too hot out, and it's not very humid, and there's a great breeze blowing...so I'm thinking nap in the park.

"And every night I miss you I can just look up and know the stars are holding you tonight."

It's over.

She passed away early Father's Day morning.

It's a blessing. She's no longer in pain.

I keep thinking about Simba. Maybe because he was honestly the closest "person" I've ever lost, maybe because his diagnosis came not long after hers, maybe because I'm crazy. Who knows.

At any rate, I remember the worst days with him, before his rally. Watching him suffer, wondering why it had to be that way, but not having the strength to have him put down. I remember the nights I laid in bed crying and praying, "Please God, just let it be over."

I'm grateful she doesn't have to suffer any longer.

Today, the world is a darker place. I will learn to shine my light that much brighter to compensate. I believe I can do it, because she would have believed I could do it. She brought so much warmth and peace and joy to the people around her, just by being. I want to do that. I want to be that person.

Vicariosity.

My friend M told me she's living vicariously through me.

I laughed, but I guess I get it. I go on dates - hell, I get ASKED on dates. It's new and awesome for me too. I go on adventures, I drink, I suffer hilarious misfortunes and make hilarious mistakes. I dated a French guy, then went through the most absurdly romantic breakup ever. I had three guys profess varying degrees of love for me IN ONE DAY. Not gonna lie, my life has an awesomeness to it.

But M? M has a husband and two girls. Her oldest is shy, quiet - so much that if you can make her crack a smile it's like winning the lottery. Her youngest is five and hilarious in that way we forget how to be as we get older. She tells stories about horses on toilets and she can knock the wind out of you with a hug.

J has a husband a teen, and an almost-teen. They're beautiful and funny and melodramatic - red-headed chaos incarnate, x2. The oldest is dating now - every day is a potential roller coaster, where the highs are a joy to behold and the lows break your heart. The youngest isn't quite there yet, she's still random and wild and silly. She always has a comeback and it usually makes you laugh til you cry.

R's husband can play the dulcimer. Her oldest is a girl and she's teaching herself Greek, Hebrew, and Arabic. Her middle son can communicate with fireflies with a flashlight and wants a pickaxe in case a tornado traps the family in the basement. Her youngest made a jetpack for a stuffed hummingbird.

Who's living vicariously here?

I think I'm seeing this guy. He said life is over by the time you're 33, when you're married and you have kids. Now I see the appeal in drinking til 3 AM, sleeping half the day, doing whatever sounds good at the moment. But there's more to life than that.

Jailbreak.

I pride myself on my open, trusting heart. Despite the number of people who have tried their best to destroy the beauty at the heart of me, I keep on loving, keep on trusting. It feels like triumph.

It also sucks. Twice in the last month, someone I care very deeply for has all but withdrawn from my life. It's wearing on me. Break my heart. Crush me decisively. Don't fade away, leaving me with the hope that you'll someday return.

I live to connect with people. But lately it seems that the stronger the connection, the more likely they are to disconnect. Is it me? How am I getting in so deep when the other person can't possibly be, since they find it so easy to bail on me?

Or is my optimism correct? Are they simply cowards, not comfortable with connecting this deeply?

Memorial Day Lake-cation.

My folks invited me to the lake with them for the weekend.

That Guy drove us down on Friday night. The trip was nice; we laughed, talked, listened to music. We learned that fireflies keep glowing after they splatter into your windshield and we made a game of it. 14 total. He introduced me to Mindless Self-Indulgence and I didn't mean to like it but I think I did. Then we found a Gen-X radio. It played the best of the 80's and 90's and we sang along and it was exquisite. He hit it off with my folks as soon as we got there. I knew he would, they're good people and so is he. They went to bed not long after we got there and we did the same.

I was the last one up Saturday morning. They were drinking coffee and talking on the deck out back. Mom and I walked the dogs, marveling at the fancy lake houses and the beautiful scenery of Monkey Island. We came back and went to the store while the men made eggs, bacon, toast. We had breakfast on the deck, then ventured into nearby towns for sightseeing. There's an old motorcycle museum with a bunch of stuff from Evel Knievel and Steve McQueen. There was also a 1957 Ariel - I sent pictures to my sister. We stopped at a little Route 66 car museum, where the men went to look at cars and mom and I poured through old postcards looking for interesting messages - my own little PostSecret adventure, I guess. I found a couple decent ones, and the woman who runs the shop pointed me to her website, www.postcardsfromtheroad.net. Very cool. We took a tour of the Pensacola Dam - a lot of stairs, but very neat nonetheless. We went home, Dad grilled burders and dogs, and we played some cutthroat Dogopoly. I was the cat (of course) and I got the best properties and built two doghouses each. I also got a "Bad Dog" card that said "Big Bone Tax" and laughed til it hurt. We went to bed with the game unfinished, and I put my monies in my purse because you can't trust those men.

Sunday was the Best Day Ever. Mom and I walked the dogs while the boys made pancakes and the finest sausage I've ever eaten. Then we went out and rented a tri-toon boat on the lake for four hours. Mom and I laid on the loungers up front, drinking and soaking up sun, laughing with the wind in our hair while the guys did their thing. Gen-X radio was on and we hit a couple of fierce waves that damn near drowned us - one hit so high the water was rolling off the bimini top! After about two and a half hours we dropped anchor. To my surprise, the water was AMAZING, so mom and I strapped on life jackets and went for a dip until the sun made us thirsty. The four of us lounged, drank, Mom and I ate. At one point Dad warned me that I was looking a little pink in back, so The Guy rubbed sunscreen on my back. We all went for a quick dip before it was time to bring the boat back. On the return voyage, Mom said "Whoa!" and I had the foresight to throw a towel over my face before we got hammered with a wall of water so massive, Mom said she actually had to hold her breath. After we took the boat back, we stopped at a lakeside bar called Ozzie's that refused to serve me or Mom because neither of us brought our IDs. Oops. We went back home for some amazing pork tenderloin and corn on the cob, and by time dinner was over, Dad was pretty drunk in a hilarious way, and kept insisting that we go to the Road Hog, which is probably the nicest biker bar I've ever seen and has bras hanging from the ceiling. I promised I'd bring one next time. So we went. The Guy spilled his drink all over the table (a drink was spilled and it wasn't my fault!) and I kept feeding the jukebox, with occasional help from Dad or The Guy. Dad convinced them to tune one of the TVs to AMC so he could watch Breaking Bad with no audio. On the way home, I pretty much demanded we stop for ice cream. I scored a box of fudge bars and ate one on the way home. By then we were all pretty much ready for bed.

Sunday I woke up really feeling the full extent of my wicked sunburn. Pancakes and a fudge bar fro breakfast and we headed home. The car ride was quieter - I slept a while.

"I can't be pure again. But I can control who takes what from me." - Julia Scheeres

I'm six years old, home from California to visit Nana. Daniel is her nephew; he is sixteen and wonderful. I love his dark hair, his braces, the way he treats me like a real person and not a kid.
Nana has a rope swing hanging from the big tree out front. She had it made for me, and there are interchangeable oak seats - the small seat and the wide one where Nana and I sit and read books.
Daniel takes me out to swing. It's the small seat. I sit on his lap but I'm afraid I'll fall off when we swing backwards. He tells me it would be easier if I turn around, so we turn me around, but when I try to sit his lap is suddenly angular and uncomfortable. I try to squirm away, try to tell him that we need the wide seat, but I'm six and he's sixteen and he holds me still and I start to cry and he coos and comforts me like he did when I had a bad dream, but there is no escaping this.
I never tell. And I never use the swing again.

When a honey bee stings you, it releases pheromones that draw the swarm. Is it like that? Can a person be tainted, marked as prey? Or is it an internal process - when that part of you is stolen, does it leave you crippled in some discernible way, attracting predators the way blood in the water attracts a shark?

I'm eight the first time my stepfather comes to me, stumbling and reeking of marijuana. He's a bad man; I think he's come to kill me. I'm soon wishing he had. I'm too scared to move, to cry, to scream. Paralyzed, I think of the swing.
This time, I tell. It doesn't help. He keeps coming back. I stop telling.

I've been used so many times. I suppose I let them. I don't know how not to and I don't care, really; what's it to me if they use me or not? Even if I don't let them, the truth is that they still want to. I'm an intricate network of easily-exploited weaknesses. I'm holding out for someone who chooses not to exploit them. For all my bullshit tough-talk I really am romantic. It's not rescue I want but protection, the white knight who sees the beauty and goodness at the heart of me and wants to defend that from all who would sully it again.

Maybe I'm just bullshitting myself. Maybe I'm just imagining that there's still beauty and goodness at the heart of me. You know what they say - fool me twice, shame on me.

Clarity.

I keep having these sudden moments of clarity when I'm alone and usually not home. Something will catch me - the sunset silhouetting the trees, an errant leaf on the wind, the first star - and I'm struck by how bizarre and wonderful life is.
There's a typhoon of pain and joy inside me at any given moment. That's how I became Cataclysm - as my blog title says, I am a natural disaster unto myself. I put a lot of effort into keeping that destruction within. It's a part of me and I can't - and possibly wouldn't - change it, but it's not my way to willfully wreak havoc on the lives around me.
I'm getting a grip on one of the sources of pain in my life. It still hurts me, but I'm working towards it hurting for only the right reasons.
There's beauty in pain, if it's for the right reasons. Childbirth hurts like nobody's business, and it's one of the most beautiful events on earth.
Learning to love someone not just for who they are, but for their own sake and not for yours, is amazing.
Love hurts. But sometimes, it's a good hurt. (That was Incubus, for the record.)

The cake was a lie.

It's almost that time again.

I moved out of the house on April 4th of last year. Our would-be anniversary was June 8th.

This time last year I had three states of being: drunk, hungover, or waiting to get drunk.

I was both lonely and scared to be alone. I felt like a failure. And I was angry at him for blaming everything on me.

So I drank.

The anniversary was the worst. I saw it as a monument to all my sins. I remember killing a bottle of rum, deciding I wasn't drunk enough, and calling someone to take me to the liquor store. By time I was done, I couldn't even raise the glass to my lips, couldn't walk, couldn't function.

That was a MONDAY. Can you imagine how Tuesday felt?

I woke up and decided I was done fucking around.

I knew what I had to do.

I had to come clean to my big brother. About everything.

Of all the people in my life, Russ is the one I worry about disappointing. And the divorce was hard on him, both because it contradicted his beliefs and because he was close to both of us.

So I talked to him about everything. The divorce, the mistakes leading up to it. And somehow, that fixed everything.

So here I am, a year later.

Wedding: $1500
Moving to Kansas: $300
Getting an apartment: $700
Divorce: $174
Finally figuring out who I am: Priceless.

I go to eleven.

I posted this on twitter Friday night:
"Every gift can be a curse. My greatest asset is also my gravest weakness. As with all things, serenity lies in finding the balance."
Nevermind what I was talking about. I'm not applying that to something else.
In 2008 I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. Before I had a diagnosis, I had two ways of explaining "what's wrong with me" and they're both from movies because that's how I roll.
1. My emotions go to eleven.
2. I feel everything. I can't not.
It all pretty much the same thing. Before I learned to control my emotions, I had two states - emotional overdrive and emotional exhaustion. Whatever I felt, I felt it intensely; eventually I would burn out and not feel much of anything until I recharged.
Thanks to Dialectical Behavior Therapy, I'm better. But I'm not cured. This is me. Which brings me to my next point:
It's not entirely bad.
I'm having a rough patch right now, going through more emotionally than I have since the beginning of the end of my marriage. The difference is, it almost killed me then.
There's almost a kind of beauty to it. To feeling so much at once. To being able to laugh genuinely even with the deep ache inside me.
Hurting so intensely might be a worthy price to pay. I get to hope so fervently, to laugh so warmly, to love so passionately. It's a gift.

Friendship, future, and Frost.

A friend reached out to me last night. He said he wished time could stop; he's afraid of the loss that comes with growth and change. He sent me this:
"I always knew looking back on my tears would bring me laughter, buit I never knew looking back on my laughter would make me cry." (Cat Stevens)
Part of being emotionally overcharged like I am is my tendency to feel so many things at once. It's not uncommon for me to be laughing and having a great time, while hurting on the inside because I know that the good time will inevitably end.
Everything ends. Even the best of friends can eventually drift apart. Sometimes they reconnect but sometimes they don't.
Robert Frost said "So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay." And it's true. But there's another sunrise waiting. Our paths may carry us away from what we know and love, but each step carries us toward new and amazing opportunities to laugh, live, and love.

Back from the edge.

I'm me again.

The lie was a lie, and I somehow found the truth behind it. I don't need a mask after all.

I DO love myself. I love myself, because I am loved, and because I love my friends and family and God. They all love me, so I must be worth it. I had lost sight of that.

the big fake

I always stress the importance of honesty. I want everything in my life to be built on love and truth.

Fun fact: I'm a liar too. My entire persona is built upon a foundation I don't actually believe. I've simply sold that lie so successfully that I, too, have come to believe it.

Or had, as the case may be.

In a sudden burst of vulnerability, I slipped that mask off. It was not the best idea ever.

I don't know if it mattered to the person I told. Unfortunately, it mattered immensely to me. Having admitted that I've been lying to myself, I no longer believe that lie, and can no longer fake it as successfully. The mask just doesn't fit right.

This is an odd week for me. Next week will be so busy that I'll be dragged kicking and screaming from the confines of my own head, and by the time I get back in there, the dust should have settled.

Warning: uncaffeinated thoughts ahead.

I just woke up. Be afraid.

Occasionally, I find it difficult to be at home. I'm in that mode now. Yesterday, I had an adventurous trip to Wichita followed by an evening with my "family" here in Hesston. It was amazing and I felt fantastic - very much my usual self.

I woke up this morning feeling lonely. This is strange. I never wake up lonely. I'm not remotely a morning person. One of the problems with the last guy I dated was not that he wanted to spend the night, but that he wanted to still be here when I got up.

I blame the transitionary state of my life. (Thank you firefox, I see "transitionary" is not a word. I'm using it anyway.) I'm in the process of losing loved ones. I suck at it. For a brief period I was able to cherish the extra time, but now it feels like I'm living with bated breath and I keep thinking "When I die, I hope it's sudden so my loved ones don't suffer like this."

Starting my own business has me thinking about the future, and it's making me dizzy. I can't stay here forever. This town, this job - I feel like they're just waiting for me to outgrow them. I'm terrified that I'm getting too comfortable here, that I'm forgetting that I can't live like this forever. It's difficult to imagine leaving when I've spent the best part of my life here.

At the risk of being cliché, I was born here. Rather, reborn. Everything I have become is the product of the experiences I've had in this little town. Which means I'll have to grow up all over again when I leave.

Behold my lack of coherency.

Rallying.

I learned about rallying because my cat did it.

My Simba. My baby of 15 years. Dying of lymphoma. One day he's almost gone, then suddenly, he's more himself than he's been in over a month.

He's rallying, they tell me. The dying get a sudden burst of life near the end. Once his rally runs out, it'll all go very quickly.

People do that, too.

My friend came to visit today. Unexpected. She's felt really well the last couple of days. As a doctor's wife, she knows all too well what that means.

That strength, that phenomenal strength I last saw, is failing her. She came to me with tears in her eyes. "This is so hard," she said, and held out her arms. She held me so tight, telling me over and over that she loves me, thanking me for all I've done - for her, her daughter, her family. Praising my kindness. Telling me what a gift I am. Somewhere inside me there was strength to hold back the flood. I kept my tears from spilling over as I told her I love her, that she's family to me.

I want to always remember how soft her hair was, from those times she asked me to "screw her head back on" and I did, from hugging her today.

I want to remember every kind word she's ever spoken about me - and there are so many! She has always praised my strength, my kindness, my cheerfulness, my helpfulness.

Dear God, please help me to always be the person she believes I am. Amen.

Your entire world can change in an instant.

My friend is dying. She was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer a few weeks ago. Less than 5% of patients with that diagnosis survive the first year, and hers is quite advanced. She has refused treatment - there is so little they can do, and it would make her feel worse than she does now.

It is entirely unfair. She is an angel - I have never seen her anything but cheerful and loving. In her spare time she holds bible study meetings at the women's prison. When I moved out on my own she continually praised my strength - for living on my own, for being so far from my family, for leaving my life behind and starting a new one in a strange place. She once made blueberry muffins for me just because her niece told her they were my favorite. I can't imagine anyone less deserving of something so awful.

She came to visit. She hugged me tight and said "I guess you've heard some rumors about me." I said I had and she said "Well I'm sorry to say they're true. I wish they weren't, but they are." It was all I could do not to cry. I said "You know, we've all talked about it, and we decided you're pretty much the best woman we've ever met," and she just touched my face and called me ornery. This is just her way - she's dying and her concern is comforting others.