of monkeys and men

Anya's post

2015-07-12T00:43:00.002-06:00

I have a lovely little gray cat named Anya.
She's just about the same age as my son and the only other girl in the house, so we have a nice bond.
Sometimes she's been another child, waking me up in the middle of the night to go outside and fighting with her "brothers" or me or dad. One night she meowed loudly until I came to the door to see her finish off a mouse she'd been hunting. (I don't think I gave her the praise she seemed to be looking for.)
She sleeps at the foot of the bed, and if bedtime approaches and I'm not there, she comes and sits by my feet wherever I am.

Lately, especially in the last week or so, I've noticed how much we've come to know each other. Instead of hanging around occationally or at bedtime, she's practically followed me around. She comes inside more frequently and jumps to sit on my shoulder several times a day (a favorite spot of hers since she was a kitten). I think she can sense my discomfort.

Since the beginning of May my chronic and occasional

Before the Dawn

2014-09-12T00:49:00.001-06:00

Sometimes I play solitaire
in the middle of the night
Because I can't sleep
I can't make disappear
my weeklong earache
Or my husband's anxiety
I can't magically put
more money in the bank account
Or hours in the day
But man,
Can I really put away those cards
Right back where they belong
All in order
I can even auto complete
when I'm tired but I got it close
Or get a hint
When I need just a little more help
And if I get way too stumped
Or tangled and lost
I can hit a new deal
And start again

And it's so nice to remember
That all the cards do have a place
Even though, if you're watching
It looks like a mess
You might see my mistakes
Where I missed the red jack
but, just like the morning
I'll recycle the deck
try again tomorrow
And work hard to remind myself
How great it will feel

When it all works out in the end

Last minute Five Minute Friday: Bloom

2014-07-19T00:04:00.001-06:00

Our garden is exciting right now. The plants are green and growing. We even harvested our first Zucchini! A few other "fruits" of our labors are showing signs too. Others are still waiting.

before the blooms, of course, there are just buds. Before the buds, there are just leaves. Stems, sprouts, and visibly only dirt.

But it was coming. On its way. Working on it. Growing. Growing just the same as it is now, in fact. Just some phases are a little less exciting than blooms and fruits.

Sometimes all we can see is just all we can see. Inside, the changes keep happening. The processes are working their way around, doing their jobs.

Leo, the Late Bloomer comes to mind, probably the teacher in me. Leo could have felt bad about blooming after all of his friends. Maybe it was just his dad who was worried about it. Who knows, maybe the love of his mother and those around him helped Leo feel safe as he grew. Maybe that's what helped him have the courage to keep growing, even though others couldn't see it.

I can see the frustration in being just a little two-leaf stem, or a tall stalk with nothing more than buds. But that doesn't mean that the blooms aren't coming. Growth might not be as triumphant or vibrant as a deep orange blossom on the backdrop of huge green leaves, but it is growth still the same.

Faith enough to move on is still faith.

Already Hiking

2014-07-16T05:15:00.001-06:00

Two hours laying in bed, not being able to turn my brain off, sinking further into deprecating thoughts and loneliness, and I finally decided to come write to get myself out of it. The house was fittingly dark for 4am. I came to the couch to escape and hide, to write safely covered under a blanket despite the still near 80 degree temperatures outside.
Just one little lamp in the corner, I honestly didn't think much of it, but apparently it was enough to wake up the two year old who I'd woken up for in the first place at 2 when he was out of bed.
I can't even crash into despair and cry myself to sleep on my own?

That's a sign you need help. I need help.
Fully admitted, but what does it matter? I could admit all the things that are wrong or hard, but that doesn't change them. Therein lies the difficulty.

I want to be heard and held and understood. I just want someone to care, to hear and to help. I want to run away and have a break. I can't. I want to hide from all the things I just can't seem to get done. but I can't.
If the outside of me is reflection of the inside of me, I am cluttered with corners in desperate need of deep cleaning. I am as dead as my lawn and filled with weeds. I am thirsty for basic needs, scorching in summer heat.
I am alone.

It was nice to see some friends this last week, and to be reminded of how it was to have friends like that. People I could talk to and work with and listen to, and I felt balanced and refocused after talking to them. But now comes the sad reminder that it was just reliving a nice memory.

Now I am alone.

I want to talk. I want someone to hear me and help convince me that I'm actually doing okay, maybe even quite well for the circumstances. Perhaps they've been through something difficult too, and they can offer suggestions and sympathy. Just a friend to talk to without worrying that I'm dumping on them. I don't think I can survive carrying the pressure by myself. I want to take it off for a few hours.
I'm carrying all the camping supplies my family needs, but without a duffle bag. I keep hoping if I can just set it down and lay it out, I can fix the bag and zip it all back up before I put it back on. Roll it up so it fits better. Breathe and stretch and rest for a moment so I can gather myself to keep going. It's a 50 mile hike and I'm probably 10 miles in on the journey. Not asking for the pack to be taken away, or the journey taken for me, just in need of a rest. Maybe some water. A chance to readjust would be nice.

But I can't rest. I can't even sleep. I can't even break down properly because I'd wake the children.

Sure does make me feel like running away. I don't have anywhere to go, and the guilt at leaving my children would be horrendous, so I couldn't ever do it. But the thought occupies my mind a lot, especially when I can't sleep.
"What would happen if I just ran away for a little while?"
Would I finally be appreciated? Would my own health matter more? Would it be more than just words that I am loved? Of course, these thoughts/hopes are interrupted by my children and husband who need me so constantly. No, Emma, you made a commitment that you don't want to break.
I might just break instead.

Just.... So alone.
So many reasons why the few people I would talk to are not okay to call. Middle of the night, time difference, busy, have their own kids/husband to worry about, haven't talked in years;

I guess I'll just keep writing.

Hey. What's up world?

2014-07-15T21:23:00.000-06:00

I feel like I made contact with the normal world today.

So many ups and downs and insecurities and emotions have filled my life for the last 4 months. Maybe I just came up for a breath of air.

Floating on my back for a moment on top of the water, looking at the sky and clouds and just breathing. Today it was while Clark snuggled with me on the couch and his teething baby brother slept through the entire Curious George movie. Any we were avoiding using the water because the drains had backed up and there wasn't a plumber to be found all afternoon. And dad was off getting the mechanics to fix the problem they caused with the oil plug.

But see? A moment of peaceful back floating can make life feel just a little bit better.

I'm sure holding the family afloat while treading water will resume soon enough, but today?

Today I was calm and normal for a whole morning.

Life must be getting better! :D

Emotions overload

2014-05-29T00:09:00.001-06:00

Long, hard days.

Physical labor.

Mental stress.

Over committed.

Running everywhere, late.

Messy house, messy mind.

An unending todo list at home, at school, at church.

Not meeting up to my expectations of myself.

Doing everything, accomplishing little.

Alone at home.

Not being able to help others.

Rejected offers of help.

Exhausted.

Wonderful family.

Adorable, happy, inquisitive children.

Good job.

Chance to sleep.

Five Minute Friday: Glue

2014-04-18T07:27:00.000-06:00

This is my first one of these, so here I go.

Glue.
The glue that holds things together. That melts in too much heat.
The glue that looks like a big white mess all over until it dries clear and somehow comes out okay.
The glue that gets up early for one kid after staying up late for the other just to keep us all sane. Or as close to sane as possible.
Sticky glue that sometimes feels dried up but pulls off the crusties on the tip and pushes hard to find just a little more good glue at the bottom of the bottle.
How much can you hold together with glue?

The glue that holds the family together.

Sometimes I wish I was the superglue and not just plain old schoolhouse Elmer's. I hope it can hold us all together just the same.

MY STORY: or The More Difficult Mental Emotional Stress and Difficulty Caused by Living and Writing About THE STORY

2014-04-05T07:14:00.001-06:00

(Read AFTER reading THE STORY post)

I can't remember the last time it was difficult for me to write something. Writing and typing have always been a welcome release of information and emotion. Usually the words flow out and help me see clearer and feel better afterward. This time, I am struggling to make sense. I struggle to express myself and the words feel awkward and strange. None of them fit right. I keep going back to make changes and then I still feel unsatisfied.

Probably because all of this feels unsatisfied. I still have no real answers. I met with Jordan's doctors and have a little bit of insight, but I'm still alone. I still don't know if anything I do can help or will hurt. I still feel lost and confused. I don't know what my role should be or if he's going to attempt this again. I feel extreme guilt that I didn't know this was coming. I knew the night was difficult at the end of a difficult week and a difficult quarter, but in my mind there was an end to all of that with the end of classes. Spring break was on the horizon and here was a chance to reset.
But it wasn't that way for Jordan.

Fear clobbers me over and over as I try to get this on paper. I am making it real by putting it in black and white on the page. Real should be good so it becomes a tangible experience. Words can be read and analyzed and understood. But these words are also vulnerable. They are words that carry heavy meaning and significance. The experiences that wring and twist the heart as I drip out the words one sentence, one phrase at a time. They were shrapnel in my heart and extracting them I hope will help, but performing self-inflicted surgery hurts so much.

Looking back over the words I managed to spit out so far makes the letters seem meaningless.

Long-ago memorized words of the prologue to Henry V make all the more sense:

O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention,
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act
And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
.....But pardon, and gentles all,
The flat unraised spirits that have dared
On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth
So great an object: can this cockpit hold
The vasty fields of France? or may we cram
Within this wooden O the very casques
That did affright the air at Agincourt?

Just like the cockpit cannot hold the vasty fields of France, neither can the mere letters and unfeeling phrases capture the confusion, the despair, the loss, the hurt, the loneliness that have been my reality this past week. How could a phrase embody the desire to make whole again what was once my innocent hope?

Hope.

Hope is not lost. Even Jordan found it as he listened to someone on the helpline. He didn't know he had it as he walked himself in to get help. Help was there. Hope pulled him in and pushed him back out again on Saturday afternoon. I stood next to him with hope of my own. Hope because I was standing next to him. He was still here in this world. He was still able to walk by my side and be here with me and our children. Hope told me we could still have dreams and life and options and lunch. Hope even told me we could have help.

Hope tells me now not to be afraid as whispers that your judgement and misunderstanding will make you treat us differently. You might. Maybe we will have to face this terrible new perception of reality without the support and extra love that we wish for. We can. Maybe you, like I was, will be paralyzed for a time, unsure of how to react to this startling information.

Maybe then you will realize to yourself the low moments you have felt and find a way to empathize, while realizing you might not understand the gravity he felt was possibly heavier.

I don't expect you to know how to act, or what to offer, or how you can share love. I don't know what to tell you that you can do to help. But I hope you will.

THE STORY

2014-04-05T07:08:00.002-06:00

There's no easy way to start this.

I guess the fact that I'm writing this means there is hope.

Hope is always something to hold on to.

THE STORY

One week ago tonight my husband had plans to commit suicide.

I got a phone call at 10 PM on Friday night notifying me that Jordan was in a crisis center at the U. A man named Brandon told me all about what had happened. How Jordan had taken leftover pain medications from the house and was planning to take a mixture of flexeril and hydrocodone and "fade away". I found out later he'd had plans from when we both left the house together earlier, in separate cars, as he presumedly left for school. He thought to himself, that was the last time he'd see the house.

I don't know the details from there, but wherever he went or wherever he was he texted me "I love you" at 7pm and that was about the end of it. He was "about to take" the pills when his doctor, Cathy Seegers, for some reason decided to call him to notify him about his new prescription being available for pickup. Miraculously, Jordan actually answered the phone call. Without knowing what was going on, she asked him if he was okay. I'm sure he said something like "fine" but she reminded him about the crisis numbers she had given him and to not hesitate to call them. Somehow he found the strength to call them after he hung up with Cathy and ask for help. I don't know the details from there, but they convinced Jordan to come into the UNI's crisis center and bring all the medications he had with him. I guess he actually came by the house (before I arrived home) to pick up his regular medications before he went up there.

The crisis center was probably the best thing that could happen to him at that point. Physically, they took his belongings, gave him a safe place to stay and eventually destroyed the leftover medications for us. More importantly they spoke for hours with a man who had lost all hope for the future. He had lost all hope for the day and what he thought was his life. He never really understood he could get help.

Jordan has Major Depressive Disorder, which means that his depression or "feeling low" can last more than a week without feeling any better. This latest depression has worsened over the past month. He had made plans before, and even told me he had made them two weeks prior. But then we talked and faced problems a little; he was seeming on the upswing. At least, he seemed better to me. I guess now I can see that he was covering that up by acting like everything was normal again. I got a cold and lost my voice and he was again pushing himself aside to take care of me.

I don't want to get into all of Jordan's story, it's not mine to tell.

What happened after:

The next morning Jordan called me and asked me to come and get him. I have a wonderful brother and sister-in-law who took our boys for the day. We went to lunch. We worked for three days to try to reach "saturation point" with the amount of hugs we could give each other in a day. We never found it.

We talked through the safety plan he made Saturday morning with the Social Worker and added more to it. We leaned like a crutch on anything normal for two days. On Tuesday we dropped off the kids and went together to the prescheduled therapist and doctor appointments as Jordan bravely owned and explained his experiences. The worst part for me was reliving the fears and the "what ifs". The best part was seeing my husband humbly admit his strengths and his own value, so very recently realized and for the first time given a residence in his heart. He chooses a word each day to help him hold on to something positive amidst the ocean plague of negative thoughts that has been drowning him. The first day it was "flicker". Then "family". Then "Happy". Life preservers in turbulent waters. The first few days were actually full of hope. He knows now many things he never accepted before. He has value, talents, and abilities. He doesn't have to always worry about the future. He has people around him who love him and can support him. He can ask others for help. He asked for and received a blessing.

He doesn't know exactly how to talk about this. Neither do I. But after months of worry and pulling away, I think it's time to accept a little more help. It is frightening to open up and wait to see how you will treat our freshly bandaged wounds. But it can't be more frightening than tending to them by ourselves. At least, that is the hope.

Afterward/Current Status: Fortunately, this was the week of spring break for me and we've been able to spend some extra time together. Unfortunately, the week is ending. Jordan got physically sick with a nasty cough, a sore throat and body aches, which have made his spirits fall a little. Also, next week is beginning to loom over us as Jordan goes back to retake classes at school and I won't be able to help during the day with the boys. We have been trying to keep up on everyday things, but both of us have been mentally and emotionally set back a bit. In other words, our house is somewhat a disaster and so are we. But we're surviving, and right now, that is most important.

Wake me up? It's only the 2nd of September!

2013-09-02T13:24:00.000-06:00

Baby 2 is on his way!
I'm happy to meet him!
I can't believe how surprised I am, but I feel like 38 weeks snuck up on me. I guess I'm slightly nervous about labor. I want to stay at home as long as possible so I can still eat and move around without being hooked up to twelve machines in the hospital. Maybe that's why they hook you up to so many machines, to discourage you from having your whole labor in the hospital!

People keep looking at me crazy when I respond that I"m just fine and I'm not really in a rush to have this baby. They changed my due date several months ago from September 24th to September 17th based on my measurements at my ultrasound. I guess it never really sank in. For so long I was also uncomfortable telling people that I'd be out for maternity leave right as school began, so I just got in the habit of saying "the end of September". I even told people the 21st hoping that would happen. Well, now that September is here and I'm measuring right on par with the 17th, it feels a lot different.
2 weeks away different.
Holy-craziness-I-can't-believe-it's-already-coming different.

I don't know really what I'm nervous about.
Not being able to tell maybe?
"I sure hope my water doesn't break but it could any time" isn't the best feeling either.
Really, for all the women that just can't wait to have their babies by this point, can't I just take this one to full term?
I would like to have school figured out. I mean, I got a sub and I have 95% of the paperwork done (just waiting on the doctor paper to get faxed to the district). Now I just need to get a handle on how to teach these subjects so I can build lesson plans for someone else!
One more week? That'd be great.

Sure, Little Boy came two and a half weeks early, but that was me and preeclampsia. None of that so far. Not that I'm really worried. Little Boy was and is fine, no problems from coming early, just tiny at 4lbs 11 oz. So THAT's not it.

Last night I tried out the idea that it was husbandman that I was most worried about.
While probably true, that didn't work out very well.
_____

I am worried about my husbandman. I'm tired of not being able to help him. He doesn't really know how to let me help him, or accept when I offer. Hugs and a few words he can accept. Physical help to accomplish what he needs to each day. . .. a little. Cleaning and taking care of little Boy. But I'm not really helping as much with that because being 8 months (9 months?) pregnant has made me tired super easily. Plus, I think I miss the first pregnancy when, at this point, I was being taken care of all the time, even though I didn't really need it.
Husbandman gets so stressed about everything and when I try to cope in my way-- usually talking things through or enjoying a short distraction-- it really makes him more anxious. Granted, he is doing a lot right now. He just also is making some mindless decisions. Buying expensive things makes me the most upset. Video Game escapes would be okay if they weren't for hours at a time. Didn't I watch my brother do that? and it really didn't help. Not from my view anyway.
So I'm hopeful that his appointments on Wednesday with the psychologist and on Friday with the Sleep specialist will give us some insight and plans. I just want to know SOME way to help him!!
_________

So, now I'm back to guessing at reasons why I'm nervous. Is it fear? Not exactly.
I guess I just don't know how it's going to turn out. I don't think I'm afraid it's going to fail. I am a mom and I know I will take care of my new son and love him like I have Little Boy. I don't know how it will be to take care of two at a time, but I'm sure it will work out in the end and we'll get the hang of it.
I know there will be sleepless nights and we'll have to laugh a WHOLE LOT so we can make it through without crying. I think Little Boy will actually help with that. He's so fun these days. All he wants to do is play and laugh. He struggles to learn things and gets whiney when tired and needs us still a lot, but he's also great at smiling and laughing and learning to do things on his own.

Logically, if I rule out every possible reason to be nervous, will the nervousness go away??

Distraction will have to win out for now, since Little Boy is waking up from his nap. I'll need to wake up his dad from his nap, too. And we all should be on our way up to the Homestead for Labor Day games (badminton and croquet) and dinner.

For now, I think I need to focus on a way to not freak out into hysterics if my water breaks before the 21st. Especially if it happens this week. (Please say it won't!) But even if it does, at least at the end I'll get to hold a sweet new baby boy. :)

Man, pregnancy does some crazy things to your brain!

Thanks for reading anyway. ;)

2013-08-03T18:51:00.001-06:00

It's so easy to convince myself that I have no one I can turn to but God. I know He's always there, but I also know I'm not always in tune with the spirit. The worst of times find me so upset at others, and then in turn so much more with myself, that I don't think I'm in any conditions to receive revelation, peace or blessings. Then hopelessness leads to more feeling alone.

Of course, checking Facebook does nothing to help- nothing on the internet does, really. When you're alone, looking at such removed human interaction does nothing, either help you feel a part of things or to satiate any need for human reassurance.

At that point I try to turn back to God and look for peace or help, only to feel at a loss as to what I could even ask for.

And then my baby cries again, or it's time to make dinner and I resign myself to being alone, without a friend to call and cry to, and only guiltier that I am not only failing at motherhood and wifehood, but also sisterhood and friendships. When did I let everything go?

But I'll comfort the child, and hope that comfort will one day find me, since I've lost my way to finding it on my own.

Trying to Help

2013-07-23T17:28:00.001-06:00

I’m watching him drown but he won’t grab the rope.

He might want to escape, but he has no ways to cope.

So he slips and he trips

He crawls but he falls

He loses his grip

And he pulls down the walls

As he sinks even further, in darkness he hides

From me, from himself, from the goodness inside

“They’d be better off without me” he lies

To himself, to that voice that keeps holding him down,

As he wishes for ways to hide underground.

So he slips and he trips

He crawls but he falls

He loses his grip

And he puts up more walls

To hide from mistakes: Maybe one, maybe two

Enough to condemn if you think that it’s true

That terrible doubting, there’s nothing to do

So why keep on trying? Why wonder? Why wait?

If that’s all there is, why leave it to fate?

So he slips and he trips

He crawls but he falls

As he loses his grip

I look down from the walls

I know that I can’t lift him out of that place

But I wish he could just feel the sun on his face

Feel the warmth, feel the hope, feel some sort of relief

‘cause I know that it’s not half as bad as he thinks

But he leans on the ground and he sinks and he sinks

Then I’m watching him drown but he won’t grab the rope

He might want to escape, but he’s losing his hope. . .

Stop and Savor the Ice Cream.

2012-10-10T19:34:00.001-06:00

Writing, for me, is like eating ice cream. I always want more of both.

But writing a well-written story, poem or blog post is like eating ice cream.

Hard to dish out.

(Oh man, I gotta get past these grandpa puns...)

That first break through with the spoon and soon your mouth easily envelops the icy, refreshing change of pace. Your mouth, cooled by the sudden change of texture and temperature, quickly absorbs the heat and breaks down any and all resistant molecules into a creamy delicious goodness. That's when the flavor sets in. Your taste buds and brain become equally enthralled by aromas reminiscent of lazy summer afternoons, celebratory ice cream parlor visits, and licking and lapping up dripping cones from corner convenience stores. The dispersing of cream over all surfaces of your mouth only brings more crave-satisfying enjoyment, and as the last of the vanishing goodness slips over your tongue and down your throat, the coolness and your desire for more lingers.

It's after that first bite- when you're sure you want more- that ice cream and writing are wonderful. You've found what you wanted, and it's perfectly expressed. Not a worry in the world about counting pages or calories. Each bite just HAS to be this good and you can't remember why it's been so long since you sat down to enjoy this moment!

And it has to be THIS moment too, because ideas sitting in a bowl quickly become a soupy confusing mess. Longing to be so eloquently expressed and enjoyed, but doomed to be washed away down the sink with all the other remnants of once-delicious ideas.

Truly great expressions and ideas, captured or conjured, seem so easily escapable that they might disappear without warning. Some days they can be so fleeting that, without stopping to record their goodness, they are lost faster that the ice cream under a heat lamp.

If you are lucky enough to have the pen and paper or keyboard available when the time comes, you can stop and savor the moment, relishing in every smooth and creamy detail. But far too often the elusive ice cream opportunities roll by like the ice cream man, tinkling music in the distance, headed off to some other writer who has time or means more than you. But oh! What a treat when you can take the moment and revel in the delectable goodness of the written word!

To take the time to stop and savor the full delight of a few paragraphs of ice cream.

Because

2012-09-15T23:45:00.000-06:00

because sometimes you feel lonely,
or worse, you feel alone. like there's no one there to hear or help you bear the burdens that you own.
because sometimes you are tired
and you wish a friend would call, just to share a laugh together, to lift your spirits when they fall.
because sometimes you are lost,
and hungry and afraid that you will never find the answer to the many prayers you've prayed.

because sometimes you are lonely, tired, lost or unaware
of the love your Father has for you, or that someone down here cares

He sends you out to visit, and share friendship like He does.
Just because.

Five out of Six

2012-09-15T23:13:00.001-06:00

This is the sixth post I've started since the last one I've published.

I'd say it's because I have a baby now and get called away a lot, but that'd be the truth.

I miss writing.

I miss feeling like I have time that for a few moments or a few hours I could just sit and write and think while I'm writing.

I love finding the "Best words in the best order" as said Samuel Taylor Coleridge, in Table Talk, July 12, 1827.

I have not-so-secret ambitions of becoming a famous author. I don't think it's really about the fame as much as writing something that really makes a difference. That would mean that I accomplished the writing dreams and also made a difference.

I guess I'm really worried about making a difference, because I find myself asking that question and using that phrase quite often. Though, luckily for the people I talk to often, this mainly happens during inner dialogue.

I don't think I would write a novel. There are just too many. And I don't really like to read novels that much. Or I should say, I don't make time to read novels. I'd rather make time for people. But back to the genre-decision quest.

Poetry comes the easiest to me. Every time I write a poem, it seems to be more like a puzzle. I have to find the best words and the best order. I have to organize my thoughts and ideas have to be presented in a familiar pattern, but with a meaningful message. Meter, rhyme and word choice are king. Then, at the end of a great poem, I feel a sense of completeness and clarity.

Writing is also creating, so I feel as though I have contributed to goodness, even without certainty that anyone will ever read my writing or care.

AND! Once again, I was doing something else instead of finishing this post.

Do posts have to be finished?

and one more, just for fun.

2011-04-05T23:17:00.001-06:00

I know I'm almost 25, but I still feel so much alive.
I'm not quite ready to settle down to just one job, or just one town.
Ideas excite me and I know there are many directions I'd like to go.
I'd like to swing on a trapeze, or glide down fabric by my knees.
I want to learn to paint and cook, but most, I'd like to write a book.

I'll gather up amazing phrases, explaining things between the pages.
And some will laugh while others ask why I rhyme when I don't even try.
But the words will flow and my heart will soar, if only I could write some more.
If only I could spend my day in capturing what I'd like to say
I'd teach people to try things they couldn't have done, and the more that they read, the more they will have fun.
Oh, just to play for a moment or two with words and phrases as authors do!

But now I have to retire for the day. I hope tomorrow I'll find more sweet things I could say.

I Can't Tell You How Much I Just Want To Write Right Now. . .

2011-04-05T23:02:00.003-06:00

. . or maybe I can.

I just want to write.
I want to close my eyes and let the words just flow out of my fingertips.
Here goes:
That is the one advantage to typing over writing. As long as I don't think too hard about the letters themselves, I can type extremely well without peeking. I guess I didn't have to worry so much when I was in the Fourth grade typing class I took, it all turned out alright in the end.
I was recently reunited with a cd of mine called "rain's Musical massage". And as I sit here, I feel like I could almost will it to be the middle of summer and pouring rain right outside my cracked bedroom window. Just enough for the sound and smells to come pouring in over my face as I breathe in the clarity and the newness. The world turned quiet, the warm air mixing with cool water, the freshly cut grass and wet pavement.
I miss summer right now.
Summer still seems to hold on to it's childlike possibilities. Even though budgets and other adult things try to infringe upon its seemingly endless hours of hope and possibilites, Summer remains a time of exploration, of excitement, of trying new things and enjoying long afternoons of old things. Summer means time at home, inside the house or in the outdoors. Summer means warmth. Sun, oh and the break of summer on my shoulders and my cheeks, red with the season's first twinge of redness still radiating the heast off my cheeks.
All while the rain falls gently into puddles. And the thunder rolls over the blanketed sky, enfolding the flashes of light in with the air, thick like icecream for my lungs and face.
Hush, as the rain pulls me away from the worn-out day.
Breathe in the sweetness, as out flows the dry, fruitless air that once filled these lungs.
Wash away the worried, distracted self, seeking the aide and attention of the world. Let the soft rainfall dilute my thougts into droplets, that dissapate into the silence of the new earth. Clensed, peaceful and prepared for whatever may come tomorrow. Tomorrow, when the sunset and night will be just a passing memory, and the sunrise will bring hope, peace, renewal, and a fresh look at everything.
Tomorrow, Tomorrow I will find myself washed up on the shores of a new me. The sun will warm the moist air and illuminate the path one more step.
Tomorrow
can hardly wait to be
today.

How My Brain Works

2009-09-17T17:25:00.003-06:00

For some reason, I've thought of my mind as a large secretary's room.
There's a nice desk at the front where I sit.
But the rest of it is an endless sea of filing cabinets. Some of them are in alphabetical order, but most are grouped by people, events, and periods of my life. That part doesn't really matter so much.
Whenever I think of something, I imagine I've retrieved the file and it's open on my desk. As long as I'm thinking about it I leave it open there so I can leaf through it. Generally I have at least two or three thought files open; sometimes to cross reference 'cleaning the room' with 'what I'll do tomorrow' and of course 'what I should eat next' is frequently fun to leaf through.
When I'm driving "basic driving skills" is open, so I can occasionally remember the 10-and-2 rule I etched on a page from driver's ed classes. But then 'music and rhythm' is open on top of that and "singing lessons" usually is open there too. And recently the "what do I want in a car" file is open as well.
Sometimes though, driving is the best time to start putting away folders. Every day needs wind closing time, when I take a few minutes to straighten the thought pages, or shuffle them into the right folders and file them back away.
I lose a lot of papers though, having so many files open at once. Most passing thoughts are not recorded in complete sentences, scribbled on bits here and there, or they are thoughts but never find a place to be filed, so they are recycled and sometimes they blow around when the air conditioning turns on the next day. but most I never find again.

So, I'm sorry if I forget your birthday or new last name. I probably filed it under "awesome" instead of "best friends" last time I was thinking about you!

. . . it's all just a little bit of history repeating

2009-08-03T00:41:00.002-06:00

I know that some people find themselves in the same situation over and over again.
I'm just in the first "again" at this point.

Somewhere along the line someone starts to get so attached
and I see the situation from the outside.
It's like suddenly I am put on trial:
Am I that attached?
Do I feel the same?
Am I making it up?
I have to ask myself if I'm just happy or if it's something more.
And am I really happy?

I don't want history to repeat itself. It isn't the kind of movie you want to watch again. Once was enough.

So it starts to really hurt my heart
just at the thought
that it might be
the same thing
again.

Bittersweet symphonies
the dissonance
right before the resolve
into a beautiful new key.

But how do I know
if the music shifts
into a better key
or just a more complicated melody?

Utah Valley Girl txt msg song (Tribute to ABC by the Jackson Five)

2009-07-29T13:12:00.005-06:00

(Like, This song is Totally for Nicole and Brittni!!)

omg!
u met @ fhe?
he could b ur ec!!
totally.
U + he
he's ur eternity!

is it tru
he went to BYU?
he is an RM 2?
good 4 u!
can't w8 till
I get 1 2!

Remain Anonymous and Your Words Will Become Famous

2009-07-07T18:54:00.001-06:00

Close your eyes and you will see clearly
Cease to listen and you will hear truth
Be silent and your heart will sing
Seek no contact and you will find union
Be still and you will move on the tide of the spirit
Be gentle and you will need no strength
Be patient and you will achieve all things
Be humble and you will remain entire.
--Anonymous Taoist poem

Welcome to Emma

2009-05-06T23:16:00.000-06:00

The best advice I heard about writing in a journal was to not worry about explaining everything that happened or your whole life story. You just start writing.