An Underwhelming NYE, 2014

Happy New Year, everyone. I hope your nights were fulfilling, wonderful, exciting (and soaked in a good deal of the spirit of your choice).

I have a confession to make, though:

My night was none of those things. My new year’s eve, 2014, was grumpy, boring and sleepy. I fell asleep at 9:30 “just to take a nap”. My boyfriend tried to wake me up at midnight, and it kind of worked; I blearily woke up, gave him a new years’ kiss that I hardly remember, groused that he almost killed off the bottle of wine without me… and promptly fell back asleep.

That is my dirty little secret. My job leaves me too wiped out and tired to do much of anything beyond sleep like the dead and drink copious amounts of coffee. Happy new year, everyone.

Folks, I need a new job, one that doesn’t do that to me.

I feel like a quitter. I slip into and out of jobs so often, because they never feel right. I am Goldilocks complaining of too hot and too cold. Sometimes I worry that it’s a flaw of character, but then I remember all the beautiful quitters who have gone before me. The artists and the writers and the homesteaders. Everyone tells me that I work so hard, so why do I always feel so damn lazy?

I would almost always rather be writing. Is it a defect that I feel like I have so much more to contribute than as a cog in a very big machine?

Happy Holidays from Where I Am to Where You Are.

What does a grown woman do for Christmas when she’s far away from her families?

I typed that about a week ago, when I was trying to figure out how to spend the holidays. What do you do? How do you spend it when your loved ones are thousands of miles away?

As it turns out, the question answers itself, and life decides for you. I spent it: Alternately arguing with and loving my boyfriend; binge watching the tv show Dollhouse (for the second time); wrapping and opening presents; heating up food for the giant food drive/party my roommate put on for the homeless; playing with new toys; and knitting socks.

And calling my family. I hate the telephone. I hate talking on it, but phone call after phone felt like an upward slog, yes… hard for someone with as many anxieties and social phobias as I’ve got. But it was also very, very nice.

It felt good to reach out and touch those far-away loved ones through words. To talk about inconsequential things and wish each other well. I am still learning things about the people that I love so well. Even my family. Each conversation is a chance to learn something new. We are always learning, always growing, always changing.

Someone told me once, a girl named Julia on a farm in the middle of the North Carolina wilderness…. she wrote me a letter. She wrote that loving someone means wanting to learn them, like a language. We are the sum of our parts.

I think that must also mean that loving someone means showing yourself to them. Peeling away the layers and defenses bit by bit and piece by piece, shucking yourself of them like an ear of corn to reveal the juicy, gem-like sweetness underneath.

Happy holidays, everyone. I hope you are showing yourselves to those who appreciate you, and I hope you’re learning your loved ones better every day.

Gratitude at 7am

I woke up feeling nauseous this morning. I couldn’t tell you exactly why. It might be the early hour.

You see, for the past two days, I’ve been trying to wake up an hour earlier in order to write. I am not a morning person. It’s difficult… but I love what I do, and I love any chance to play with my characters in their world (even if bringing myself to my laptop to edit sometimes feels like dragging a five-year-old to the dentist).

I think my reluctance to write lately has been, also, about my lack of familiarity with editing. Historically, I’ve done embarrassingly little editing, and so suddenly trying to “fix” something as big as a 100k work manuscript is daunting to me. Trying to make the whole thing cohesive is a challenge, but I’ve worked at it a little every day for the past three days. It feels like a little victory.

Is this boring to you? I talk about writing a lot, but I’m never quite sure what to say, or how much I should say about myself. I’m a private person in my day to day life, and sharing sometimes feels uncomfortable. It’s the reason that I hid all of my older posts when I did my site redesign. I wasn’t sure if I was somehow sharing too much. I have plans to go back and restore most of them soon, maybe on a rainy day, when I have the time to go through them for quality control.

One last thought; one last thing that I feel like sharing, and it feels important: A kind stranger left me a donation on this blog yesterday, and it brought up feelings I wasn’t expecting. Happiness, I was expecting, which was there… but more than that? I felt very humbled and so grateful, and if I’m being honest, a little scared. It brought up all those sleeping-dog doubts of, “Who am I, that anyone should listen to me? Who am I, to think that I have something to say?”

“I’m proud of you,” was all that my love had to say on it, his face smiling and full of love. “I’m so proud of you.” And the doubt dogs drowsed again.

So thank you, whoever is out there and reading this. I am grateful and humbled. I hope you stick around and keep reading for as long as you’re feeling it.

Lazy writer

I must confess, I’ve been a lazy writer lately. It’s not that I don’t think about it. It’s always in the forefront of my mind, that feeling that I should be writing. I should, I want to write (I want nothing more), and yet… I don’t.

I’ve been trying to figure out why, and the closest I can figure is that I’m waiting for things to be perfect. I’m waiting for the perfect moment or the perfect words. I don’t blog because I am afraid of saying the wrong thing. If I’m sharing, it has to be perfect, right? I don’t want the words to ring hollow, or trite, or untrue.

And so I say nothing, and that’s not actually better.

It’s easy to make excuses, so, so easy. “We’ve been sick,” “I’ve been working,” “I had to go Christmas shopping,” “It was date night.” There are a thousand reasons I could give you, about why I haven’t been writing, and they’re all true.

The thing is, none of them really matter. I have no one to answer to but myself, and the real truth is, I’m not satisfied if I’m not writing. It’s purpose, it’s a reason to get up in the morning, it’s a kind of life. My life. The life I’m trying to build.

New web design has launched!

Hey, readers. Sorry for the ages-long hiatus. I had several big changes in my life, and that, along with other projects, pulled me away from the blog for a while. But, I’m back, just in time for the end of the year and the holidays.

I did a redesign of the website into a more picture-heavy, graphic version of its former self. If you’re interested in reading the blog without wading through the front page, I recommend bookmarking

If any of you are still out there, I hope you all are having a good Winter season, and I hope to be able to share more writing with you in the new year.

Comments on the new style and redesign? Let me know.

Breaking the Beast

Once in a rare moon, I still cry late into the night. Cry, because something still hurts me so bad. My thoughts are my own, and yet, and yet…

My emotions suit me ill. I have no room for them. No room for this want that claws at my insides, shredding them like a cat in heat, screaming to get back to you.

I grab the feral creature, rein her in. Shove her into the pit of my belly and lock my ribs tight around her. I am smothering her in hugs, trying to make the awful yowling stop.

I never was built for happiness, but I shoved it in and made it fit the mold. 

Nevermind the ocean of longing that I still bleed. My wrists bleed seawater from the gashes that we made long ago, lover. I held the knife, and you held my hand.

(I am broken and dark)

These days, I ignore the wounds that we so loved to lick together.

These days, I bind my arms tight with comforters and lace dresses. I ignore the love weeping through despite it all. I bind it tighter, pretend I’m whole.

I pretend you weren’t always going to be the one.

Is this what being healthy feels like? 

I’m sorry that I wanted it.