So I love my life. I'm the happiest person in the world. I am. But some nights I get really cold, and I wish my brother and I were closer, and that my father was as healthy as I still tend to picture him. When it is thirty-something degrees outside, but I have to keep my windows cracked open so that they won't fog up and alert the police that I'm "camping illegally" on private property, and the only food I have is six-month-old raw spaghetti that I have no way to cook and therefore store in trunk thinking that a noodle might be nice to crunch on if my cash runs out or someone breaks in again, and the wind outside is roaring through the parking garage I'm not allowed to stay overnight in (anymore) like a semi crawling up the slope behind me and every once in a while when the air shakes the ground, I have to check out the back window to make sure it isn't the cops, I get sad- and simply being the happiest person alive isn't enough to keep me from shivering and my heart from pounding and my thoughts from cycling my insecurities. Won't somebody just take me home.
"You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of a sudden even though you have some place where you put your shit, that idea of home is gone... You'll see one day when you move out it just sort of happens one day and it's gone. You feel like you can never get it back. It's like you feel homesick for a place that doesn't even exist. Maybe it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't ever have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I don't know, but I miss the idea of it, you know. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people who all miss the same imaginary place." -Andrew Zimmerman -Garden State
I watch Rives speak "Op Talk" and I see Adam send Leila a message that says "<3u" and once Joseph told Sara that she was like a sister to him... and I think to myself, maybe he would like me better if we were raised 3,000 miles apart. And maybe I would like me better if he liked me better. And maybe I could find a home again. And sometimes I get so angry and wonder what the hell is so bad about me that renders me so unlovable; or what the hell is wrong with him that makes him so heartless. But then, maybe he's just insecure, too. Maybe I put too much energy into seeking his approval. Most of the time I can let it go. Tonight it got to me, and sharing seemed like a good idea.
Being homeless isn't that bad unless you're alone and it's late and you let yourself think about people and your relationships with those people. Blame is a dangerous thing. I have no one to blame but myself... but only when it's late and I'm alone. Night creeps in deeper than you realize sometimes. Speaking of which, I have to go. My fingers are freezing and it's almost time for the police to drive through.
I love my life. And I love you. And I'm the happiest person in the world. I am so thankful for this gift of voice. And for sleeping bags. And for kidneys. And for my family (yes, my brother as well). Goodnight. <3
Monday, October 25, 2010
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Road Trip of Wonder: Part 1
“That song from Willy Wonka… the one Veruka Salt sings… it’s been stuck in my head all day. I feel like it’s appropriate. It’s about something I often think: I want it all.
I want the whole world
Then I digressed, and this popped in:
I’m alive!
It’s hard to know whether I can follow a path of simply being happy to be alive and taking full advantage of all the wonderful things I have, or whether I’ll continue to be sucked into a world of needs and wants and must-haves again and again and again. I think that I’m happy right now in this moment… then I think that I need to go get something… so I get it, and once again am happy right now in this new moment with this new thing. But that desire is always looming nearby… so am I ever truly content?”
- From a blog I started back in August
The wonderful happenings of the past month are innumerable. I don’t know if there’s any way for me to possibly put them all down into words. First, however, I believe I owe an explanation for the post-before-last.
I finally got my appointment at biometrics to have my fingerprints and photo taken for my new green card. My address is still technically in Florida, so I had to fly out for a few days to get everything back to normal. My flights were typical, short, and not unpleasant, though it had been a little while since I last flew, and so take-off and landing were particularly exhilarating. (As was looking out of the window at the land I’ve driven over so many times.) I was able to appreciate flight with a whole new basis of comparison. When I landed, my father met me in the Orlando Airport Atrium. That was where most of the blog was inspired. I was so taken aback at his appearance. It had been nine months since I had last seen him, and in that time, not only had he lost weight, but also some bone density, I’m assuming. He was smaller and shorter than before, he had significantly more grey hairs in his full beard, and he was walking with a cane- something I hadn’t actually put together as necessary from our telephone conversations about his health. I knew he had pain in his leg, and I knew that the doctor had given him handicap placards for the cars, but I didn’t think you’d be able to see it in the way he looked, or the way he walked. I was naive, I suppose. The shock of seeing him this way, so suddenly, without having prepared myself for it, was enough to reduce me to tears when we embraced. I was so happy to see him, but so sad to see him in that fashion. My crying set him off crying, and we spent a few minutes there, in front of everyone at the airport, crying together unabashedly.
The rest of the visit was fine. Babbo helped me to get to my biometrics appointment, and to work at the shifts I picked up at my old store in Celebration. I spent some time with my mom as well. My brother was virtually invisible for most of our visit, although we did have a nice time smoking hookah in the backyard. I got to visit with Malyssa. We spent a night together drinking wine and eating watermelons from the perfect waters of the pool. It was beautiful, really. But I flew home with only a feeling of concern for my dad. This combined with the illness of my cat, which doesn't seem to be getting better despite the medications and surgery, and the illness of one of my rats, Lily, which I can do nothing to treat due to a lack of finances, conspired to make the next few weeks very difficult. I wanted to be at home with my parents, to spend as much time with them as possible. I was afraid and confused and I felt like my dad was just dying thousands of miles away, slowly and miserably, and I was over here- ignoring it all. I saw him everywhere I went and was as haunted as Macbeth, and thus, that blog was born.
Being able to go back again just a month later was very cleansing for me, emotionally. The entire trip was just a fortification of my sense of love for the world, and for myself, and I was able to work through my feelings of intense concern for my dad, as well as other things.
I left Denver on Tuesday, the 7th of September. I had spent the night at the house of a new friend, (albeit a wonderful one) Grant. I worked for a few hours, and spent an hour or two preparing for the drive. Once I figured out my route, I went back to Starbucks for my customary road-trip beverages, chocolate milk, and a Starbucks double-shot with white mocha. I put the chocolate milk in my front cup holder, and the double-shot in the back cup holder, and away I went. When I got to I-70, two things happened. First, my car hit 100,000 miles. I took a picture at 100,001. Second, I smelled coffee. I assumed it was from the bags of coffee that I had in the back window-sill. As I drive through different elevations, the air inside the bags expands and contracts and, when it expands, it pushes out of the bag and makes my whole car smell like coffee for a moment. I chalked it up to elevation and kept driving. A few minutes later, I reached to take a sip of my double-shot. It wasn’t in the cup holder. Confused, I looked back. The entire venti sized drink was upside-down in the backseat. That was what I had smelled… not coffee beans, but my 24 oz. coffee and sugar concoction filling my backseat with its stickiness and scent. ‘Hurray!’ I thought to myself, and laughed. The only thing about it that upset me, really, was that I hadn’t really had the chance to drink any of it… and now I was coffee-less on a long drive. I got over it quickly.
I drove a fairly short distance that night, only a hundred miles. Since I had no coffee to keep me buzzed, I decided to call it a night, and so pulled into a rest stop a little while south of Colorado Springs. I had to find a highway to cut south-east from the 25 to another highway that would take me more directly toward Houston, Texas, and I would much rather do that during daylight, anyway. I’ll confess to you now, most of my thoughts, for about the first half of this entire trip, were Grant related. I was worried that there might actually be something there. And I say ‘worried’ because, if there was something there, then it would be foolish of me to move to Idaho in November. I like to use a Robert Pirsig quote as an analogy to my predicament. “The truth knocks on the door and you say ‘Go away, I’m looking for the truth.’ And so it goes away. Puzzling.” I didn’t want to go off on a search for a full life-experience, in turn leaving behind a chance at a different aspect of life. I’ll also tell you now, that I am perfectly content simply being friends with Grant, now, with no concern for a future romance: nothing unpleasant, just an understanding, which took a huge weight from my shoulders, and literally left me laughing with glee when it occurred.
After an uneventful night at the rest-stop (save for sprinklers which sounded like someone peeling carrots while surrounded by rattlesnakes… or perhaps someone peeling rattlesnakes while surrounded by carrots?) I continued my drive to Houston. Just this side of Oklahoma I was sitting in traffic, waiting for the oncoming cars to pass so that our line could make our way down the single open lane. I zoned out for a minute, but when I focused on the windshield again, I noticed a cute little yellow butterfly. I watched as it flew over the car and to the right toward a giant field. It took just a second, but all of a sudden I noticed that the field was absolutely filled with yellow butterflies, and they had been swarming all over my car since I came to a halt where I was. I had been there for a few minutes and hadn’t even noticed! I had the chance to sit inside this swarm of fluttery things for over five minutes, watching the little critters swoop and dive and play around in the most adorable manner. I realized once we started moving again, that if there hadn’t been that little stall in my trip, I never would have noticed the butterflies… I felt so lucky, and I knew that the entire trip would be like that: having the chance to stop and appreciate all the amazing little things that would have passed by unnoticed in normal circumstances.
I arrived in Houston refreshed and ready for adventures. I found Isaac’s house, and finding him not at home, had the chance to socialize with his sister-in-law. She’s a nice girl, about at the level of a six or seven year old mentally. She introduced me to the two overly-enthusiastic dachshunds living in the house, as well as offered to let me play some of her Nintendo games with her. I declined- I’ve always been more of a watcher anyway. We passed the afternoon quietly, waiting for the boys to finish with school and for Isaac and Heather to return home. They came home in a flurry. The boys, Demian and Gabriel, were a hurricane of terror and destruction, and utterly amusing to watch. They drove the dogs and their Aunt crazy, and I had a blast helping Gabriel with his homework, and teaching Demian everything I know about rats (I had brought them inside to keep them out of the sun). When Heather and Isaac came back it was late afternoon and I absconded with Isaac to go out on some adventures. We spent the early evening exploring Houston’s art district including one of the art museums showcasing a lot of Asian and Indian art. We walked around the town and caught up with each others’ adventures and misadventures in the last few years. He and I had worked together at my first Starbucks in Hunter’s Creek, Orlando, Florida. He had moved to Texas a few years back and we hadn’t seen each other since, so there was a lot of Starbucks gossip to catch up on. We talked a lot about love.
Eventually the night wore on and my long day of driving caught up with me. I had hoped to be able to spend more time with my friend, but given his busy work schedule and my desire to get to Florida a day early, I decided to leave the next morning. We went back to the house and had some dinner, pasta with garlic bread and salad- a staple in my house growing up- and then settled into our respective couches and lazy-e boy recliners to watch some stand-up comedy. I laughed myself to sleep. The next morning I awoke to a bustling house full of people getting ready for work and school, scrambling around for homework assignments and clothing. It was such a huge change of pace compared to the daily life I’m used to- spending my nights and mornings alone with just the rats for company. Isaac and I said a heartfelt goodbye, and shortly after everyone jetted out of the house, I moseyed my way out as well. With the rats in the passenger seat, and nothing but miles of highway stretching out before me, I settled into a long stretch of driving.
I got turned around in New Orleans, Louisiana for a minute- not somewhere I’m very fond of stopping. It was somewhere on their maze of highways running through downtown that I missed an exit to continue on the 10… and had no idea. I drove for another 15 miles before the highway I was on ended in a street in part of an urban neighborhood. I thought to myself that the highway had seemed a bit unfamiliar. I had remembered it going right into the city, whereas the one I took this time swooped just around the city’s limits. I eventually got myself turned around and followed this new highway back to I-10. I decided to take an intentional detour when I got to Mississippi, however. There’s a short highway running through the southernmost part of the state, just along the coast-line. I turned off the highway for a nice costal digression. It had been a few months since I’d seen the Gulf, I reasoned, so a stop was not out of the question. I parked on a nice empty part of the beach and got out to go to the water. At the shore’s edge I found millions of little sea shells- one of the largest clam shells I’d ever seen at the beach, it probably would have been five or six inches across if it was still in one piece- and a seagull pecking at what looked like a dead catfish of some sort. After a nice look around and a breath of sea air, I headed back to the car. Just a few blocks down the road, people were working with bright orange gear and large buckets, cleaning oil off the beach. It was a sharp reminder of the devastation just so recently inflicted upon all of the beaches along the Gulf of Mexico. So I continued on driving.
Unfortunately, somewhere over the last few days, I had picked up a bug that had settled in my tonsils. At the end of my first day driving I was feeling sick. I had a twinge of pain in my right tonsil… and I knew that meant trouble after so many cases of tonsillitis, bronchitis, sinusitis, strep throat, etc.
I made it all the way to Florida before a fever made me seek a rest stop. I had hoped that eating a bit would help my predicament, but by around 10pm I was woozy. I pulled into a rest stop to try to sleep… and I did for a moment… but the heat and, more obtrusively, the humidity, made it difficult for me to rest- especially with a fever. By around 4am, I couldn’t sleep any longer, so I started up again and continued on. I drove through the sunrise, which I commented on in my Facebook, saying “The sky has turned a hazy grey and there is a heavy fog in the dense black masses of forest all around. Dawn is underway.” I made sure to stop again for a nap while the air was still relatively cool. I popped some fever reducers and hoped to be able make it to my parents’ house without too many more stops. I just wanted to rest, and I had no one to take over the drive for me. If I kept going I was miserable, but if I stopped, I was still miserable, only extending the time for which I would be miserable driving. I pushed through. When I finally got to Orlando, it was so comforting to be able to navigate the familiar roads and point out familiar landmarks when I’d grown so accustomed to using a map and always being somewhere new. I got to my Mom and Dad’s house and promptly flung myself on the bed in the guest room where I’d be staying. This was the first real bed I’d been on in nearly a year… and it was wonderful!
I passed a restful afternoon with my parents and fell sick again that evening, as I often seem to do. My mom says it’s because I’m a child. I refuted and said I’d grown up a bit. She waved that away, insisting that I’m still her child. I accepted that. The next morning, we had planned to make an outing to see Harry Potter World at Islands of Adventure in Universal Studios. I woke up with a fever and swollen tonsils and glands. I told my mom that I still wanted to go, renting a wheelchair if necessary. She and my dad laughed and agreed- so long as I didn’t breathe on anyone. We went out for breakfast at an IHOP on the way to Universal. I felt better after eating, and when finally at Universal, decided that a wheelchair wasn’t necessary. Inside Harry Potter World, we found Diagon Alley and the Hogwarts Express. We saw Ollivander’s Wand Shop with carts outside selling replica Harry Potter and Voldemort wands. We saw the Hog’s Head and the Three Broomsticks, as well as Zonko’s Joke Shop. We made our way toward the Hogwarts castle, first and foremost, to wind our way through the 30 minute line exploring different rooms with talking portraits and amazingly 3D projections of Ron, Harry, and Hermione, getting us ready for the adventures ahead. We piled into a seat assembly and were promptly whisked away to help Harry during an adventure. It was absolutely thrilling! I could hear Babbo shrieking two seats down. I probably shrieked, too. Haha. When the ride finished and we staggered out, Mom was grinning from ear to ear and Babbo, red in the face, exclaimed that he hadn’t flown like that since… since… well since he last flew! We gathered our water bottles and things and decided to go for a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks before calling it a day. I was getting tired, and Babbo’s leg wasn’t behaving very nicely, so the table at the back of the restaurant by the wall of antlers was very much appreciated. The butterbeer was fantastic- kind of like a cream soda topped off with whipped marshmallow froth. We decided to head for home by taking the long route around the other little parts of Islands of Adventure that we hadn’t seen yet, thereby making a complete revolution. Finally back at the car and hour or so later, we all collapsed into our seats. I slept for years and years and years.
The next day was Sunday, and doctor’s offices weren’t open. I considered going to an Urgent Care place since there were a few very close to my parents’ house, but my medical insurance cards had been in my purse when it was stolen, and I would have to pay out of pocket without them. Luckily, there is a doctor’s office in town where I had gone not too long before moving away from Florida last, and they had all of my new insurance information. I just had to wait for Monday and show them the letter from the insurance company confirming my continued enrollment. I believe I spent that Sunday only partially conscious. Monday morning came, and not a minute too soon, and I drove directly to the doctor’s office to make an appointment in person. I got the insurance squared away and made an appointment for 9:45am. I was actually in to see Dr. Miller by 9:15 and had my prescriptions filled by 10. I could hardly wait for the antibiotics to kick in. Just the next morning I posted on Facebook that I was feeling better, or faking it. I was just determined to have the best vacation possible (which I accomplished).
This is where I’ll leave you tonight. In my next installment I’ll be feeling better and out seeing friends and having unspeakably amazing times… just you wait. <3
I want the whole world
Then I digressed, and this popped in:
I’m alive!
It’s hard to know whether I can follow a path of simply being happy to be alive and taking full advantage of all the wonderful things I have, or whether I’ll continue to be sucked into a world of needs and wants and must-haves again and again and again. I think that I’m happy right now in this moment… then I think that I need to go get something… so I get it, and once again am happy right now in this new moment with this new thing. But that desire is always looming nearby… so am I ever truly content?”
- From a blog I started back in August
The wonderful happenings of the past month are innumerable. I don’t know if there’s any way for me to possibly put them all down into words. First, however, I believe I owe an explanation for the post-before-last.
I finally got my appointment at biometrics to have my fingerprints and photo taken for my new green card. My address is still technically in Florida, so I had to fly out for a few days to get everything back to normal. My flights were typical, short, and not unpleasant, though it had been a little while since I last flew, and so take-off and landing were particularly exhilarating. (As was looking out of the window at the land I’ve driven over so many times.) I was able to appreciate flight with a whole new basis of comparison. When I landed, my father met me in the Orlando Airport Atrium. That was where most of the blog was inspired. I was so taken aback at his appearance. It had been nine months since I had last seen him, and in that time, not only had he lost weight, but also some bone density, I’m assuming. He was smaller and shorter than before, he had significantly more grey hairs in his full beard, and he was walking with a cane- something I hadn’t actually put together as necessary from our telephone conversations about his health. I knew he had pain in his leg, and I knew that the doctor had given him handicap placards for the cars, but I didn’t think you’d be able to see it in the way he looked, or the way he walked. I was naive, I suppose. The shock of seeing him this way, so suddenly, without having prepared myself for it, was enough to reduce me to tears when we embraced. I was so happy to see him, but so sad to see him in that fashion. My crying set him off crying, and we spent a few minutes there, in front of everyone at the airport, crying together unabashedly.
The rest of the visit was fine. Babbo helped me to get to my biometrics appointment, and to work at the shifts I picked up at my old store in Celebration. I spent some time with my mom as well. My brother was virtually invisible for most of our visit, although we did have a nice time smoking hookah in the backyard. I got to visit with Malyssa. We spent a night together drinking wine and eating watermelons from the perfect waters of the pool. It was beautiful, really. But I flew home with only a feeling of concern for my dad. This combined with the illness of my cat, which doesn't seem to be getting better despite the medications and surgery, and the illness of one of my rats, Lily, which I can do nothing to treat due to a lack of finances, conspired to make the next few weeks very difficult. I wanted to be at home with my parents, to spend as much time with them as possible. I was afraid and confused and I felt like my dad was just dying thousands of miles away, slowly and miserably, and I was over here- ignoring it all. I saw him everywhere I went and was as haunted as Macbeth, and thus, that blog was born.
Being able to go back again just a month later was very cleansing for me, emotionally. The entire trip was just a fortification of my sense of love for the world, and for myself, and I was able to work through my feelings of intense concern for my dad, as well as other things.
I left Denver on Tuesday, the 7th of September. I had spent the night at the house of a new friend, (albeit a wonderful one) Grant. I worked for a few hours, and spent an hour or two preparing for the drive. Once I figured out my route, I went back to Starbucks for my customary road-trip beverages, chocolate milk, and a Starbucks double-shot with white mocha. I put the chocolate milk in my front cup holder, and the double-shot in the back cup holder, and away I went. When I got to I-70, two things happened. First, my car hit 100,000 miles. I took a picture at 100,001. Second, I smelled coffee. I assumed it was from the bags of coffee that I had in the back window-sill. As I drive through different elevations, the air inside the bags expands and contracts and, when it expands, it pushes out of the bag and makes my whole car smell like coffee for a moment. I chalked it up to elevation and kept driving. A few minutes later, I reached to take a sip of my double-shot. It wasn’t in the cup holder. Confused, I looked back. The entire venti sized drink was upside-down in the backseat. That was what I had smelled… not coffee beans, but my 24 oz. coffee and sugar concoction filling my backseat with its stickiness and scent. ‘Hurray!’ I thought to myself, and laughed. The only thing about it that upset me, really, was that I hadn’t really had the chance to drink any of it… and now I was coffee-less on a long drive. I got over it quickly.
I drove a fairly short distance that night, only a hundred miles. Since I had no coffee to keep me buzzed, I decided to call it a night, and so pulled into a rest stop a little while south of Colorado Springs. I had to find a highway to cut south-east from the 25 to another highway that would take me more directly toward Houston, Texas, and I would much rather do that during daylight, anyway. I’ll confess to you now, most of my thoughts, for about the first half of this entire trip, were Grant related. I was worried that there might actually be something there. And I say ‘worried’ because, if there was something there, then it would be foolish of me to move to Idaho in November. I like to use a Robert Pirsig quote as an analogy to my predicament. “The truth knocks on the door and you say ‘Go away, I’m looking for the truth.’ And so it goes away. Puzzling.” I didn’t want to go off on a search for a full life-experience, in turn leaving behind a chance at a different aspect of life. I’ll also tell you now, that I am perfectly content simply being friends with Grant, now, with no concern for a future romance: nothing unpleasant, just an understanding, which took a huge weight from my shoulders, and literally left me laughing with glee when it occurred.
After an uneventful night at the rest-stop (save for sprinklers which sounded like someone peeling carrots while surrounded by rattlesnakes… or perhaps someone peeling rattlesnakes while surrounded by carrots?) I continued my drive to Houston. Just this side of Oklahoma I was sitting in traffic, waiting for the oncoming cars to pass so that our line could make our way down the single open lane. I zoned out for a minute, but when I focused on the windshield again, I noticed a cute little yellow butterfly. I watched as it flew over the car and to the right toward a giant field. It took just a second, but all of a sudden I noticed that the field was absolutely filled with yellow butterflies, and they had been swarming all over my car since I came to a halt where I was. I had been there for a few minutes and hadn’t even noticed! I had the chance to sit inside this swarm of fluttery things for over five minutes, watching the little critters swoop and dive and play around in the most adorable manner. I realized once we started moving again, that if there hadn’t been that little stall in my trip, I never would have noticed the butterflies… I felt so lucky, and I knew that the entire trip would be like that: having the chance to stop and appreciate all the amazing little things that would have passed by unnoticed in normal circumstances.
I arrived in Houston refreshed and ready for adventures. I found Isaac’s house, and finding him not at home, had the chance to socialize with his sister-in-law. She’s a nice girl, about at the level of a six or seven year old mentally. She introduced me to the two overly-enthusiastic dachshunds living in the house, as well as offered to let me play some of her Nintendo games with her. I declined- I’ve always been more of a watcher anyway. We passed the afternoon quietly, waiting for the boys to finish with school and for Isaac and Heather to return home. They came home in a flurry. The boys, Demian and Gabriel, were a hurricane of terror and destruction, and utterly amusing to watch. They drove the dogs and their Aunt crazy, and I had a blast helping Gabriel with his homework, and teaching Demian everything I know about rats (I had brought them inside to keep them out of the sun). When Heather and Isaac came back it was late afternoon and I absconded with Isaac to go out on some adventures. We spent the early evening exploring Houston’s art district including one of the art museums showcasing a lot of Asian and Indian art. We walked around the town and caught up with each others’ adventures and misadventures in the last few years. He and I had worked together at my first Starbucks in Hunter’s Creek, Orlando, Florida. He had moved to Texas a few years back and we hadn’t seen each other since, so there was a lot of Starbucks gossip to catch up on. We talked a lot about love.
Eventually the night wore on and my long day of driving caught up with me. I had hoped to be able to spend more time with my friend, but given his busy work schedule and my desire to get to Florida a day early, I decided to leave the next morning. We went back to the house and had some dinner, pasta with garlic bread and salad- a staple in my house growing up- and then settled into our respective couches and lazy-e boy recliners to watch some stand-up comedy. I laughed myself to sleep. The next morning I awoke to a bustling house full of people getting ready for work and school, scrambling around for homework assignments and clothing. It was such a huge change of pace compared to the daily life I’m used to- spending my nights and mornings alone with just the rats for company. Isaac and I said a heartfelt goodbye, and shortly after everyone jetted out of the house, I moseyed my way out as well. With the rats in the passenger seat, and nothing but miles of highway stretching out before me, I settled into a long stretch of driving.
I got turned around in New Orleans, Louisiana for a minute- not somewhere I’m very fond of stopping. It was somewhere on their maze of highways running through downtown that I missed an exit to continue on the 10… and had no idea. I drove for another 15 miles before the highway I was on ended in a street in part of an urban neighborhood. I thought to myself that the highway had seemed a bit unfamiliar. I had remembered it going right into the city, whereas the one I took this time swooped just around the city’s limits. I eventually got myself turned around and followed this new highway back to I-10. I decided to take an intentional detour when I got to Mississippi, however. There’s a short highway running through the southernmost part of the state, just along the coast-line. I turned off the highway for a nice costal digression. It had been a few months since I’d seen the Gulf, I reasoned, so a stop was not out of the question. I parked on a nice empty part of the beach and got out to go to the water. At the shore’s edge I found millions of little sea shells- one of the largest clam shells I’d ever seen at the beach, it probably would have been five or six inches across if it was still in one piece- and a seagull pecking at what looked like a dead catfish of some sort. After a nice look around and a breath of sea air, I headed back to the car. Just a few blocks down the road, people were working with bright orange gear and large buckets, cleaning oil off the beach. It was a sharp reminder of the devastation just so recently inflicted upon all of the beaches along the Gulf of Mexico. So I continued on driving.
Unfortunately, somewhere over the last few days, I had picked up a bug that had settled in my tonsils. At the end of my first day driving I was feeling sick. I had a twinge of pain in my right tonsil… and I knew that meant trouble after so many cases of tonsillitis, bronchitis, sinusitis, strep throat, etc.
I made it all the way to Florida before a fever made me seek a rest stop. I had hoped that eating a bit would help my predicament, but by around 10pm I was woozy. I pulled into a rest stop to try to sleep… and I did for a moment… but the heat and, more obtrusively, the humidity, made it difficult for me to rest- especially with a fever. By around 4am, I couldn’t sleep any longer, so I started up again and continued on. I drove through the sunrise, which I commented on in my Facebook, saying “The sky has turned a hazy grey and there is a heavy fog in the dense black masses of forest all around. Dawn is underway.” I made sure to stop again for a nap while the air was still relatively cool. I popped some fever reducers and hoped to be able make it to my parents’ house without too many more stops. I just wanted to rest, and I had no one to take over the drive for me. If I kept going I was miserable, but if I stopped, I was still miserable, only extending the time for which I would be miserable driving. I pushed through. When I finally got to Orlando, it was so comforting to be able to navigate the familiar roads and point out familiar landmarks when I’d grown so accustomed to using a map and always being somewhere new. I got to my Mom and Dad’s house and promptly flung myself on the bed in the guest room where I’d be staying. This was the first real bed I’d been on in nearly a year… and it was wonderful!
I passed a restful afternoon with my parents and fell sick again that evening, as I often seem to do. My mom says it’s because I’m a child. I refuted and said I’d grown up a bit. She waved that away, insisting that I’m still her child. I accepted that. The next morning, we had planned to make an outing to see Harry Potter World at Islands of Adventure in Universal Studios. I woke up with a fever and swollen tonsils and glands. I told my mom that I still wanted to go, renting a wheelchair if necessary. She and my dad laughed and agreed- so long as I didn’t breathe on anyone. We went out for breakfast at an IHOP on the way to Universal. I felt better after eating, and when finally at Universal, decided that a wheelchair wasn’t necessary. Inside Harry Potter World, we found Diagon Alley and the Hogwarts Express. We saw Ollivander’s Wand Shop with carts outside selling replica Harry Potter and Voldemort wands. We saw the Hog’s Head and the Three Broomsticks, as well as Zonko’s Joke Shop. We made our way toward the Hogwarts castle, first and foremost, to wind our way through the 30 minute line exploring different rooms with talking portraits and amazingly 3D projections of Ron, Harry, and Hermione, getting us ready for the adventures ahead. We piled into a seat assembly and were promptly whisked away to help Harry during an adventure. It was absolutely thrilling! I could hear Babbo shrieking two seats down. I probably shrieked, too. Haha. When the ride finished and we staggered out, Mom was grinning from ear to ear and Babbo, red in the face, exclaimed that he hadn’t flown like that since… since… well since he last flew! We gathered our water bottles and things and decided to go for a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks before calling it a day. I was getting tired, and Babbo’s leg wasn’t behaving very nicely, so the table at the back of the restaurant by the wall of antlers was very much appreciated. The butterbeer was fantastic- kind of like a cream soda topped off with whipped marshmallow froth. We decided to head for home by taking the long route around the other little parts of Islands of Adventure that we hadn’t seen yet, thereby making a complete revolution. Finally back at the car and hour or so later, we all collapsed into our seats. I slept for years and years and years.
The next day was Sunday, and doctor’s offices weren’t open. I considered going to an Urgent Care place since there were a few very close to my parents’ house, but my medical insurance cards had been in my purse when it was stolen, and I would have to pay out of pocket without them. Luckily, there is a doctor’s office in town where I had gone not too long before moving away from Florida last, and they had all of my new insurance information. I just had to wait for Monday and show them the letter from the insurance company confirming my continued enrollment. I believe I spent that Sunday only partially conscious. Monday morning came, and not a minute too soon, and I drove directly to the doctor’s office to make an appointment in person. I got the insurance squared away and made an appointment for 9:45am. I was actually in to see Dr. Miller by 9:15 and had my prescriptions filled by 10. I could hardly wait for the antibiotics to kick in. Just the next morning I posted on Facebook that I was feeling better, or faking it. I was just determined to have the best vacation possible (which I accomplished).
This is where I’ll leave you tonight. In my next installment I’ll be feeling better and out seeing friends and having unspeakably amazing times… just you wait. <3
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
There will be more, I promise.
I haven't forgotten about you, blog. I promise. I will try to write tomorrow... maybe while doing laundry? But tonight I simply want to say, just in case tomorrow's writing doesn't take place, that my life is the most amazing life that it's possible to live, and that I am sending out rays of love to every corner of the world. I simply cannot put into words all of the love I feel. I want to tell you about all of my adventures, and all of my new friends, and all of my decisions, and just how wonderful I feel about all of it. : )
Tonight, I simply want to declare my love of all things, and make a promise to you, blog, that I will write again very soon. <3 I love you.
Tonight, I simply want to declare my love of all things, and make a promise to you, blog, that I will write again very soon. <3 I love you.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
I can't look at grandparents or elderly couples without feeling resentment at the fact that I may never see my own parents this way. Young children with their fathers make me wish I could go back to my own childhood to re-live my life... just to have more time. I can't bear to imagine his suffering and all the deterioration yet to come. It tears me to pieces. I saw a shooting star last night and tried to wish for all three of them, but realized it was too much for one wish... I had to pick one. Crying, I thought "My father. Please let me keep my father!" I'm not ready for this... this uncertainty, this sorrow, this unavoidable impending loss... I want more time, but I don't want to see him suffering. This is all so fucking difficult. He's wasting away, and I'm not there.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Summer Solstice- Coincidence?
( The view from Look Out Mountain)Eric has perfect puppy-dog eyes. He looked at me, deeply and seriously, way down into my eyes, and apologized. He was trying to find me a place to stay that night. I didn’t have the nerve to tell him I’m homeless… even just then he was breaking my heart. He’s beautiful.
And Mike. He’s beautiful, too. I think California just breathes beauty into all of her children. Mike made me soup, from scratch, the night before I met Eric. He played music for me and I played music for him. The nights were cool and bright with life and coffee. Twiggs is one of my favourite places for that. I fell in love with Mike that night. We hugged goodbye on the day I left… one of those long, tight, I-can’t-believe-I’m-going-to-let-you-go-in-just-a-minute type hugs. And I still can’t believe I let him go. I can’t stop thinking about this hands on the guitar, and the gentle haunted smile on his lips. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again…
Sometimes, though, you’re reminded that you’re in the right place, doing what you should be doing. I came back from San Diego and I was heartbroken. Then I was robbed. I thought I was a fool for leaving that coffee shop and that wonderful man. Then again, part of me felt like I should have never left Canada earlier this year. Today I realized that I can’t go back to Ottawa like I want to in September, until I get my Green Card replaced… otherwise I may not be able to come back here. And I know now that here is where I belong… at least for now.
I wanted to celebrate the Solstice this year; mainly because I’ve always just missed it in the past. I’ve always thought to myself the week before ‘the Solstice is coming, I have to remember’… then two or three days after the Solstice I do remember and kick myself. Not this year, though. This year I had it in the palm of my hand. The day before the Solstice, I contemplated the day ahead in my journal. Here’s what I wrote:
The sun is setting. Tomorrow is the longest day of the year. I’ll be there for it, too.
Tomorrow, I’ll wake at 3:30am… and promptly reset my alarm for 4:10am. I’ll go to work until noon. I’ll go to the bathroom after work to bathe. Then, I’ll go to the park. I’ll sit on the grass with Lily and Violet, close enough to the river to hear the water. I’ll stay for just a little while. I’ll pack up, drive to Petsmart, and buy some new bedding and treats for the girls. I’ll clean their cage. I’ll throw away the trash I’ve been collecting and clean out my car. I’ll write a song called “The Longest Day.”I’ll do my laundry. I’ll hug a tree. I’ll buy a little plant and try really hard to keep it alive… maybe some grass or catnip from Petsmart… so the girls can enjoy it, too. I’ll drive to Boulder, and find a boulder. I’ll treat myself to dinner. I’ll treat myself to dessert, too. It’ll all be organic! I’ll go for a hike up the river after dinner to that water treatment place. I’ll sing my song there. I’ll stroll back, stopping by the store to get a Caramel Macchiato and Iced Lemon Pound Cake. I’ll pick up my calc book beforehand, and sit down to do some problems, with my ancient flip flops at my feet, and my trusty calculator at hand. I’ll drive to the top of the parking structure for the sunset. I’ll watch it all. The, I’ll finish my book, drive to the parking lot, and go to bed.
-or-
I’ll wake up at 3:30am. I’ll promptly reset my alarm for 4:10am. I’ll go to work until noon. Afterward, I’ll drive up Look Out Mountain, find a place to park, and stay there all day, meditating. I’ll watch the sunset, drive down to the parking lot, and go to bed.
-or-
I’ll wake up at 3:30am. I’ll promptly reset my alarm for 4:10am. I’ll go to work until noon. Afterwards, I’ll wait around, all day if I have to, for Bernie. I’ll confess my undying love. The rest of the day will proceed sporadically. I’ll go to bed.
-or-
I’ll miss my alarm, drive to Idaho, and start farming potatoes. I’ll sleep intermittently.
-or-
I’ll wake up at 3:30am. I’ll do a handstand in the car. I’ll walk to work backward. I’ll drink a shot every hour. I’ll remind everyone that today is the longest day of the year- in Japanese. I’ll give something to Goodwill. Then I’ll buy it back. I’ll go to a movie. I’ll stay for another. Maybe a third. I’ll catch a bug, tell it a secret, then let it go. I’ll skip- everywhere- all day. I’ll go to bed… in a bed.
-or-
I’ll wake up at 3:30am. I’ll promptly reset my alarm for 4:10am. I’ll work until noon. I’ll go to price out mattresses. I’ll make a budget. I’ll ask Heather to make me a budget book. I’ll win the lottery and burn the budget book. I’ll buy the mattress, and 20 like it. I’ll line the ground floor of a house with them. I’ll roll around all day. I’ll go to bed.
-or-
I’ll get a call from Jason Mraz in 2 minutes. He’ll ask me to marry him. I’ll fly to San Diego tonight and spend all day tomorrow farming avocado. I’ll go to bed.
-or-
I’ll wake… wait… my phone is ringing…
“The Longest Day”
I reset my alarm five times
And spent the morning snoozing.
At work I walked a fine line
between walking out and
rolling around laughing!
It’s the longest day
and I’ll be here for all of it
It’s the longest day
today.
I didn’t win the lottery. Jason Mraz never called. I don’t remember half of what I actually did do that day. But I do remember the important parts… like that I was happy all day, and that I bounced into Starbucks after dinner trying to get Tiffany and Heather to understand how at peace and joyful I was feeling. It didn’t work, but I tried. Dinner was the highlight of my day. I decided to treat myself to a banquet. There is a Mediterranean Bistro right on the river called Grappa. It’s a cute place with four star food and two star staff. My waitress was sweet and showed me to my patio table overlooking the river right by the little park where the slide and fish sculptures are. I got to listen to the birds and the laughing children. It was serene and beautiful. I had brought my book of the day, to keep me company in lieu of table conversation. I read snippets between courses. While waiting for my appetizer, I had ordered a prosciutto and melon drizzled with a balsamic reduction, I sipped my iced tea and flipped through pages in this novel. It was a sort of murder mystery… that much I remember. I’ve read a dozen books since then and I don’t exactly remember the details of the plot. I remember that it took place in the U.S. and the characters were thin and obviously not very memorable, since I can’t seem to recall anything about them. What stood out is what I read after I finished my appetizer and main entrée of Carnad a l’orange. I waited for the check and sipped the cocktail I had ordered. It was a recipe my father recommended to me. He named it “The Italian Gentleman.” It’s 3/4oz. Campari, 3/4oz. Sapphire Gin, A dash of Angostura Bitters, and Zest of Lemon. He recommended it to me after a telephone conversation in which I asked him for the name of the bitter drink I had been so fond of while in Italy. It turns out it’s simply named Bitter and tastes like a non-alcoholic version of Campari. So I sat after a fantastic Mediterranean meal, sipping a drink that was forcefully nostalgic, specifically of my trip to Italy a few years previously. I flipped open the novel to where I had left off a few minutes before. One of the characters was recalling a place they had visited. I could hardly believe my eyes when I read the name of the town he had once visited. It was San Giminiano, in Italy. He was talking about the torture museum there, and the floors of devices which shocked him and opened his eyes to the extent that people are willing to go to maim and torture each other. Obviously, it wasn’t the subject that startled me… only that I, too, had been to San Giminiano in Italy and had visited that very same torture museum with my family. The character mentioned being nauseated by the things he saw. I was fascinated while I was there, but I was desperately nauseous as well. Not because of the torture devices… but because I was suffering from an advanced case of undiagnosed Mono. I would take a few steps in the museum, then have to sit on one of the display risers with my head between my knees, asking my mother to read the inscriptions detailing the form of torture to me. Quite a hilarious predicament… And one of the most memorable things about my family vacation.
Let’s recap. I was at a Mediterranean Bistro, having eaten a Mediterranean meal which reminded me of my Italian grandmother’s cooking, sipping a drink that was reminiscent of a drink I had loved in Italy, and now reading about a little town which I, myself, had visited in Italy. The owner of the restaurant came outside, and he was a thin Italian man with his hair slicked back and strong cologne. Instantly I flashed back to Hunters Creek, Florida and the Starbucks I worked at there, where one of my regulars, Francesco, was a thin Italian man with the same hair and cologne, and a restaurant owner as well. He had been infatuated with me and had invited me to Paris with him. I turned him down… after all he was nearing seventy or so. I decided after that never to turn down another trip to Paris so long as I live. What a coincidence, I thought. What a fantastic coincidence. The owner of Grappa invited me to enjoy another cocktail, which I decided not to accept seeing as the first one had gone to my head a little bit. As I rose to leave, he thanked me, his strong accent bringing a smile to my lips. “Grazie.” I said through my grin. “Prego,” he replied with a pleasantly shocked expression. “Buona Notte.” “Buona Notte.” His eyes trailed after me as I walked away.
I knew, that evening, that I was in exactly the place I was meant to be. These little things came together to paint such a wonderful picture of this thing called coincidence. All the puzzle pieces settled into place in those moments and I felt such serenity and such peace. I floated back to Starbucks after leaving a generous tip for my waitress, and ran into Tiffany and Heather and tried to get them to understand all of the sporadic little happenings of my evening. They couldn’t. But I felt in my heart that it was true. I am where I should be right at this moment. I’m on the right track. I’m not lost after all.
Later that night, after watching the sunset and whiling away the hours, I ended up parked on the roof of the parking structure, facing the glow behind Table Mountain. I watched the stars emerge gradually. I put on Lifehouse and listened to their inspiring lyrics. When the song ‘Everything’ came on, I hit the button to make it repeat. The video on Youtube affected me deeply, and I brought it up from memory. The beautiful intro, with God showing the beautiful world to the innocent new girl. Then when she’s torn away from him by things like money, drugs, lust, envy, and suicide. I see him reaching out toward her, but she can’t see him. I see them distressed and lost. Then… the climax, she breaks free and rushed back toward her God. But the corrupters intercede and keep her away. She’s struggling violently. She pushes forward and they push her back. She pushes again and they throw her down. They tear at her clothes and her hair, they won’t let her up. She won’t make it. But then, suddenly, God breaks in and single handedly shields her from all of the oppressors. They rally against him, but he is too strong. The girl is able to rise and see the world again. God throws down the oppressors to the ground, and reunites with the girl, innocent again. They resume their dance and their discovery of all of the beautiful things that he has made for her. The song ends, and I am crying.
I sat on the roof of the parking structure, staring out into the night sky, my heart full of meaningful coincidence, and I searched within myself deeply and at length… for God. I listened to the song on repeat and repeat and repeat, singing the chorus and envisioning the video I’d seen. I felt… I felt such… sorrow. And joy. And emptiness and fullness all at once. I felt spiritually aware. I felt lost. I felt found. I found comfort in my solitude. I felt overwhelming loneliness. I felt self-pity. I felt pride. I felt all these things… but I did not feel a God. I felt MUSIC, and I felt all the things that music inspires within me. I felt Lifehouse in my veins. I felt Jason Mraz in my heart. I felt rhythm and soul. I felt blues and jazz. I felt pop and rap and punk and rock and jam bands and drum circles and cymbals crashing in my brain. It was beautiful and heartbreaking all at once.
I felt the Solstice inspiring these words within me. And here they are. And they and I would not exist if it weren’t for this beautiful rhythm in the world.
Then the police made their rounds in the parking structure and I had to go. I drove to the parking lot and went to bed.
And Mike. He’s beautiful, too. I think California just breathes beauty into all of her children. Mike made me soup, from scratch, the night before I met Eric. He played music for me and I played music for him. The nights were cool and bright with life and coffee. Twiggs is one of my favourite places for that. I fell in love with Mike that night. We hugged goodbye on the day I left… one of those long, tight, I-can’t-believe-I’m-going-to-let-you-go-in-just-a-minute type hugs. And I still can’t believe I let him go. I can’t stop thinking about this hands on the guitar, and the gentle haunted smile on his lips. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again…
Sometimes, though, you’re reminded that you’re in the right place, doing what you should be doing. I came back from San Diego and I was heartbroken. Then I was robbed. I thought I was a fool for leaving that coffee shop and that wonderful man. Then again, part of me felt like I should have never left Canada earlier this year. Today I realized that I can’t go back to Ottawa like I want to in September, until I get my Green Card replaced… otherwise I may not be able to come back here. And I know now that here is where I belong… at least for now.
I wanted to celebrate the Solstice this year; mainly because I’ve always just missed it in the past. I’ve always thought to myself the week before ‘the Solstice is coming, I have to remember’… then two or three days after the Solstice I do remember and kick myself. Not this year, though. This year I had it in the palm of my hand. The day before the Solstice, I contemplated the day ahead in my journal. Here’s what I wrote:
The sun is setting. Tomorrow is the longest day of the year. I’ll be there for it, too.
Tomorrow, I’ll wake at 3:30am… and promptly reset my alarm for 4:10am. I’ll go to work until noon. I’ll go to the bathroom after work to bathe. Then, I’ll go to the park. I’ll sit on the grass with Lily and Violet, close enough to the river to hear the water. I’ll stay for just a little while. I’ll pack up, drive to Petsmart, and buy some new bedding and treats for the girls. I’ll clean their cage. I’ll throw away the trash I’ve been collecting and clean out my car. I’ll write a song called “The Longest Day.”I’ll do my laundry. I’ll hug a tree. I’ll buy a little plant and try really hard to keep it alive… maybe some grass or catnip from Petsmart… so the girls can enjoy it, too. I’ll drive to Boulder, and find a boulder. I’ll treat myself to dinner. I’ll treat myself to dessert, too. It’ll all be organic! I’ll go for a hike up the river after dinner to that water treatment place. I’ll sing my song there. I’ll stroll back, stopping by the store to get a Caramel Macchiato and Iced Lemon Pound Cake. I’ll pick up my calc book beforehand, and sit down to do some problems, with my ancient flip flops at my feet, and my trusty calculator at hand. I’ll drive to the top of the parking structure for the sunset. I’ll watch it all. The, I’ll finish my book, drive to the parking lot, and go to bed.
-or-
I’ll wake up at 3:30am. I’ll promptly reset my alarm for 4:10am. I’ll go to work until noon. Afterward, I’ll drive up Look Out Mountain, find a place to park, and stay there all day, meditating. I’ll watch the sunset, drive down to the parking lot, and go to bed.
-or-
I’ll wake up at 3:30am. I’ll promptly reset my alarm for 4:10am. I’ll go to work until noon. Afterwards, I’ll wait around, all day if I have to, for Bernie. I’ll confess my undying love. The rest of the day will proceed sporadically. I’ll go to bed.
-or-
I’ll miss my alarm, drive to Idaho, and start farming potatoes. I’ll sleep intermittently.
-or-
I’ll wake up at 3:30am. I’ll do a handstand in the car. I’ll walk to work backward. I’ll drink a shot every hour. I’ll remind everyone that today is the longest day of the year- in Japanese. I’ll give something to Goodwill. Then I’ll buy it back. I’ll go to a movie. I’ll stay for another. Maybe a third. I’ll catch a bug, tell it a secret, then let it go. I’ll skip- everywhere- all day. I’ll go to bed… in a bed.
-or-
I’ll wake up at 3:30am. I’ll promptly reset my alarm for 4:10am. I’ll work until noon. I’ll go to price out mattresses. I’ll make a budget. I’ll ask Heather to make me a budget book. I’ll win the lottery and burn the budget book. I’ll buy the mattress, and 20 like it. I’ll line the ground floor of a house with them. I’ll roll around all day. I’ll go to bed.
-or-
I’ll get a call from Jason Mraz in 2 minutes. He’ll ask me to marry him. I’ll fly to San Diego tonight and spend all day tomorrow farming avocado. I’ll go to bed.
-or-
I’ll wake… wait… my phone is ringing…
“The Longest Day”
I reset my alarm five times
And spent the morning snoozing.
At work I walked a fine line
between walking out and
rolling around laughing!
It’s the longest day
and I’ll be here for all of it
It’s the longest day
today.
I didn’t win the lottery. Jason Mraz never called. I don’t remember half of what I actually did do that day. But I do remember the important parts… like that I was happy all day, and that I bounced into Starbucks after dinner trying to get Tiffany and Heather to understand how at peace and joyful I was feeling. It didn’t work, but I tried. Dinner was the highlight of my day. I decided to treat myself to a banquet. There is a Mediterranean Bistro right on the river called Grappa. It’s a cute place with four star food and two star staff. My waitress was sweet and showed me to my patio table overlooking the river right by the little park where the slide and fish sculptures are. I got to listen to the birds and the laughing children. It was serene and beautiful. I had brought my book of the day, to keep me company in lieu of table conversation. I read snippets between courses. While waiting for my appetizer, I had ordered a prosciutto and melon drizzled with a balsamic reduction, I sipped my iced tea and flipped through pages in this novel. It was a sort of murder mystery… that much I remember. I’ve read a dozen books since then and I don’t exactly remember the details of the plot. I remember that it took place in the U.S. and the characters were thin and obviously not very memorable, since I can’t seem to recall anything about them. What stood out is what I read after I finished my appetizer and main entrée of Carnad a l’orange. I waited for the check and sipped the cocktail I had ordered. It was a recipe my father recommended to me. He named it “The Italian Gentleman.” It’s 3/4oz. Campari, 3/4oz. Sapphire Gin, A dash of Angostura Bitters, and Zest of Lemon. He recommended it to me after a telephone conversation in which I asked him for the name of the bitter drink I had been so fond of while in Italy. It turns out it’s simply named Bitter and tastes like a non-alcoholic version of Campari. So I sat after a fantastic Mediterranean meal, sipping a drink that was forcefully nostalgic, specifically of my trip to Italy a few years previously. I flipped open the novel to where I had left off a few minutes before. One of the characters was recalling a place they had visited. I could hardly believe my eyes when I read the name of the town he had once visited. It was San Giminiano, in Italy. He was talking about the torture museum there, and the floors of devices which shocked him and opened his eyes to the extent that people are willing to go to maim and torture each other. Obviously, it wasn’t the subject that startled me… only that I, too, had been to San Giminiano in Italy and had visited that very same torture museum with my family. The character mentioned being nauseated by the things he saw. I was fascinated while I was there, but I was desperately nauseous as well. Not because of the torture devices… but because I was suffering from an advanced case of undiagnosed Mono. I would take a few steps in the museum, then have to sit on one of the display risers with my head between my knees, asking my mother to read the inscriptions detailing the form of torture to me. Quite a hilarious predicament… And one of the most memorable things about my family vacation.
Let’s recap. I was at a Mediterranean Bistro, having eaten a Mediterranean meal which reminded me of my Italian grandmother’s cooking, sipping a drink that was reminiscent of a drink I had loved in Italy, and now reading about a little town which I, myself, had visited in Italy. The owner of the restaurant came outside, and he was a thin Italian man with his hair slicked back and strong cologne. Instantly I flashed back to Hunters Creek, Florida and the Starbucks I worked at there, where one of my regulars, Francesco, was a thin Italian man with the same hair and cologne, and a restaurant owner as well. He had been infatuated with me and had invited me to Paris with him. I turned him down… after all he was nearing seventy or so. I decided after that never to turn down another trip to Paris so long as I live. What a coincidence, I thought. What a fantastic coincidence. The owner of Grappa invited me to enjoy another cocktail, which I decided not to accept seeing as the first one had gone to my head a little bit. As I rose to leave, he thanked me, his strong accent bringing a smile to my lips. “Grazie.” I said through my grin. “Prego,” he replied with a pleasantly shocked expression. “Buona Notte.” “Buona Notte.” His eyes trailed after me as I walked away.
I knew, that evening, that I was in exactly the place I was meant to be. These little things came together to paint such a wonderful picture of this thing called coincidence. All the puzzle pieces settled into place in those moments and I felt such serenity and such peace. I floated back to Starbucks after leaving a generous tip for my waitress, and ran into Tiffany and Heather and tried to get them to understand all of the sporadic little happenings of my evening. They couldn’t. But I felt in my heart that it was true. I am where I should be right at this moment. I’m on the right track. I’m not lost after all.
Later that night, after watching the sunset and whiling away the hours, I ended up parked on the roof of the parking structure, facing the glow behind Table Mountain. I watched the stars emerge gradually. I put on Lifehouse and listened to their inspiring lyrics. When the song ‘Everything’ came on, I hit the button to make it repeat. The video on Youtube affected me deeply, and I brought it up from memory. The beautiful intro, with God showing the beautiful world to the innocent new girl. Then when she’s torn away from him by things like money, drugs, lust, envy, and suicide. I see him reaching out toward her, but she can’t see him. I see them distressed and lost. Then… the climax, she breaks free and rushed back toward her God. But the corrupters intercede and keep her away. She’s struggling violently. She pushes forward and they push her back. She pushes again and they throw her down. They tear at her clothes and her hair, they won’t let her up. She won’t make it. But then, suddenly, God breaks in and single handedly shields her from all of the oppressors. They rally against him, but he is too strong. The girl is able to rise and see the world again. God throws down the oppressors to the ground, and reunites with the girl, innocent again. They resume their dance and their discovery of all of the beautiful things that he has made for her. The song ends, and I am crying.
I sat on the roof of the parking structure, staring out into the night sky, my heart full of meaningful coincidence, and I searched within myself deeply and at length… for God. I listened to the song on repeat and repeat and repeat, singing the chorus and envisioning the video I’d seen. I felt… I felt such… sorrow. And joy. And emptiness and fullness all at once. I felt spiritually aware. I felt lost. I felt found. I found comfort in my solitude. I felt overwhelming loneliness. I felt self-pity. I felt pride. I felt all these things… but I did not feel a God. I felt MUSIC, and I felt all the things that music inspires within me. I felt Lifehouse in my veins. I felt Jason Mraz in my heart. I felt rhythm and soul. I felt blues and jazz. I felt pop and rap and punk and rock and jam bands and drum circles and cymbals crashing in my brain. It was beautiful and heartbreaking all at once.
I felt the Solstice inspiring these words within me. And here they are. And they and I would not exist if it weren’t for this beautiful rhythm in the world.
Then the police made their rounds in the parking structure and I had to go. I drove to the parking lot and went to bed.
Now, as I write this, I am back at Applewood. This is the Starbucks where Isaac, from one of my favorite bands, The Fray, used to work. Now, as I write these words, my iTunes on shuffle... randomly scrolling through the hundreds of thousands of songs in my Library, The Fray are singing to me. I can look up from the compter screen and envision Isaac sweeping around the tables, his friends and bandmates hanging out in the corner, goofing around and waiting for him to finish work so they can go practice.
I came to this state for music. "Joan moved away to Colorado." Butch Walker, my savior in High School, brought me here. And as soon as I came here, unannounced, The Fray stumbled into my life, just as they had after I graduated and I needed to learn "How to Save a Life." Then came my trip to Italy. Then came Jason Mraz.
I'm excited for what the future holds.
"Joan moved away to Colorado.
Said she found God and a boyfriend as well:
one that won't hit her or make her feel shallow.
And there's a lot to learn
about Joan."
"I found God
on the corner of First and Amistad,
where the West
was all but won.
All alone,
smoking his last cigarette,
I said "Where you been?"
He said, "Ask Anything."
I haven't found God, though I looked. And I haven't found a boyfriend either, abusive or not. But hell... this is MY song now. And I'll write it how I see fit.
(There's a First and Amistad in Texas. Not exactly close to Houston, where I'll be in September... but then...
1st St & Amistad Ave W, Quemado, Maverick, Texas 78877)
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
The Chronicles of Joan: The Homeless Barista
I haven’t washed my hair for a few days. It’s starting to show. I’m left with a few options. I could call Heather and ask if I can go to her house to shower, or I can just bring my shampoo into the Starbucks bathroom and wash my hair in the sink. I usually opt for the sink lately.
Heather would say that I wasn’t an imposition, but I knew better than that. I stay at her house when she and her husband, Josh, are out of town, under the pretence of watching their rats. For a little while there, they would ask me to stay on days they were home, too. I let it slip that my situation would, more than likely, be semi-permanent. I wore out my welcome, then. I’m okay with that. I actually find that I prefer sleeping in my car than on her couch. (Nothing against her couch, of course, but it sags in the middle and I never know where I am once I wake up.) My car has grown more comfortable since the winter. The other day I had myself convinced that I was in a real bed just before I opened my eyes.
On a related topic… I daydream a lot about beds and bedrooms these days. I find myself staring into space and trying to recall the exact feeling of slipping my legs under the crisp, cool covers on warm summer night and feeling the sheets glide over my bare calves. The feeling of lying on my stomach, with my head on the cool pillow and the comforter pulled up all around me. I miss the smell of the cool air, carrying a hint of the scent of the metal screen that would shield me from the crawlies of the night. I miss having blinds to mollify the rising of the early morning sun. I miss carpets and doorframes and squeaking box frames. I miss bed spread. I sometimes walk the aisles of Target, trying to imagine which fine home furnishings and decorative motifs I would go with if I had a house to put them in. I’d get my office furniture from Bernie, of course. One day…
I leave Starbucks at around 9:30pm on days when I’m not working. I use the restroom and change my clothes to be appropriate for the next day (jeans if I’ll be off, work clothes if I work in the morning) and head out to my car, which is usually parked on the third floor of the parking garage. This is my new favourite location. I park just where the overhang ends, facing Look Out Mountain. In a few steps I can be in the glorious summer sun, but my car can hide safely in the shade. There’s almost never anyone up there. I pretend that it’s my backyard. I walk around barefoot, and sing. I look out over the edge at the quaint town that I live in. Right across the way there is an apartment building. It’s a high end kind of place. I get to peek in some of the patios and windows and see the big-screen T.V.’s and stainless steel kitchens. Sometimes I get jealous, and I resent the people that live there. Most of the time I get sad. One night, after I closed, I moved the car out into the moonlight, to the spots that look out on Table Mountain. I watched the glow of the city from behind the landmark, and the stars as they came out. I listened to Lifehouse on repeat and tried as hard as I could to find God. All I found was music.
I would just stay in the parking garage at night, but for two reasons. Firstly, it’s too well lit. I couldn’t sleep well with all that light all the time. Secondly, there are police that patrol the structure, starting at around eleven each night. I’m not sure if they come back hourly, or if it’s a once a night kind of thing… but I have a feeling that I wouldn’t go unnoticed for long. It’s fine to leave your car over night, that I know for sure. John’s car broke down and has been in the garage for weeks with no problems (I’m starting to leave notes in the dust on the windshield every time I pass by). However, I have a feeling that a person staying in the car over night would be a different matter entirely. So, at night, I get to the car, toss in my stuff in the passenger seat, or in the trunk, depending on my organization for the week, and turn my attention to Lily and Violet for a minute. I make sure they still have food and water, that their bedding is dry and clean, and that they get sufficiently wired up and subsequently tuckered out before we head off to bed. They love running around on the back sill of the car, where I store my aprons, comic books, coffee mark-outs, and my brand new potted plant. It’s dying already, of course. I think Daisy had magical gardening powers. I do all of this while still in the parking garage because it’s well lit. I don’t like having to turn on the dome light while in my spot for the night. It makes me self-conscious, when I do, and draws attention to the car.
I pull out of the parking garage and drive the three blocks to Heather’s apartment complex. There are a few places near here where I like to park for the night. Just before the front doors, there’s a turn off with additional parking to the left of the building. I sometimes pull in here and turn off the lights. I coast into my spot next to the SUV that has been parked with the windows half down for years through rain, snow, and all sorts of abusive weather. I know that no one pays close attention to it, so it’s like a shield in a way. Ignore the SUV, ignore the little white car beside it. Either that, or I park in the very last spot on the left. It’s right next to the river, which is beautiful to listen to during the night. If I decide to park somewhere darker, I head up, past Heather’s building, and toward the park. There’s another row of parking spots, just to the right, that are unclaimed by the building and the park, and have absolutely no restrictions. I know it’s okay to leave vehicles here overnight because of the trailer that’s been parked there for a little while. I like waking up to the sounds of people enjoying the park behind me. No one bothers me. The only real downside to this spot is that, though it’s shaded by a huge tree, it still heats up quickly in the mornings. The spots by Heather’s apartment are right up against a big wall that, along with the mountains behind it, shades my car from the morning sun for a while. This morning I slept until nearly ten in the spot by the river. Near the park, I have to leave by around nine.
Once I’m in the spot of my choosing, I turn off the car, make sure the doors are locked and make my bed. I put the driver’s seat down all the way and slide it as far as I can away from the steering wheel to give me more leg/maneuvering room. I find my body pillow and jam it up between me and the passenger’s seat to guard me from the protruding emergency brake, gear shifter, and center console. I take off my shoes, and my socks as well, on warmer nights. I put my pillow under my head, and loosely drape my comforter over my torso, more for cover than for warmth at this point in the night. Sometimes I hang a sweater from the hook above the back seat and arrange it so it blocks out the parking lot’s bright lights. I find my phone and put it in my right pocket. I find my keys and hook them on my left belt loop. I curl into a ball facing right and listen to the rats scratching around. On colder nights over the remaining winter, I would have my sleeping bag around me, and at least one sweater on. I would cover my head and face with the sleeping bag and/or comforter. It would be warm there as long as I didn’t come uncovered in the night. As soon as Spring finally hit and it warmed up, I moved my sleeping bag and coat to my storage unit. No matter what I’m wrapped in, the windows get foggy by the morning after chilly nights. I don’t care much. As long as I can sleep through the night without drawing attention to myself, I’m fine. If I get woken up and questioned, I’ll say that I’m staying with Heather and that I got locked out and couldn’t get a hold of her. At which time I’ll call her, pretending to be exasperated, and she’ll let me in. After that I’ll go back to sleeping in Walmart parking lots.
In the morning I put the pillows and comforter back into the backseat, locate my toiletry bag and brush my hair and put on deodorant. I put the seat up and put on my shoes. Then I slide the seat forward and turn on the car. I drive the three blocks back to the parking garage by Starbucks, and head up to the third level. I gather what I may need for the first part of the morning, be it my toiletry bag, my computer bag, or a book or two. I check on the rats again, and make sure they’re bruxing the morning away, and then I head down the stairs to Starbucks to pee and to brush my teeth, sometimes to change if I didn’t do that the night before. These early morning rendezvous with my store are the only time that I feel ashamed. My co-workers see me come in and know where I came from. My regulars see me and offer greetings saying, “What, do you live here or something?” I avoid eye contact and pretend to be joking when I say yes. Once I come out of the bathroom, clean and more awake, I’m fine. From there I either work, read, go on the computer, or, rarely, go back to sleep. If I’m opening I have to wait an additional few minutes until the shift gets the keys to unlock the bathrooms. Those are usually the longest minutes of my day and I inevitably start actually working a few minutes late because I don’t want to work with morning breath. Most of the people that I work with know that I live in my car. It’s hard to keep that a secret around here. I’m unclear as to whether or not my manager knows. I don’t care about that much either, though. Whether or not he knows, I’m a good worker and am always available. It’s hard to complain about an employee like that.
A few of the people I work with offered to let me stay with them or their friends when I first got here, saying they just have to check with their roommates or something like that. No one has really gotten back to me about it, and, to be honest, I don’t really want them to. I’m a jumble of mixed feelings about it… but I don’t have any money for rent at the moment, and I’d hate to mooch off anyone. I feel bad enough taking showers and doing laundry at Heather’s apartment, although she says that they don’t pay for water. I feel like a bum. I’d rather wash my hair in the sink and find a Laundromat. But I can’t say no when Heather asks me because she’s genuine and she doesn’t want to hear that I feel like I’m imposing. “It’s not imposing if I INVITE you” she has said, multiple times. It doesn’t change how I feel about it, though.
In a couple of month I may have a paycheck that doesn’t necessarily have to disappear the moment I get it. If, by then, I’m sick and tired of roughing it, I’ll look into finding a place. Until then, I’ll continue to live by these means. It’s the only way I can feel legitimate. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the generosity, it’s just that I don’t feel I’m worthy of charity. I chose to be where I am. I made an active decision. I said to myself, when I get to Colorado, I’ll live in my car until I have the money for an apartment. In all honesty, it’s not that bad. I get lonely sometimes, but I get lonely with an apartment, too.
I’m glad I got a new friend for Lily. I feel like I worry about her less now that she has a companion. They can snuggle at night and keep warm, play all day while I’m working (or vice versa), and generally just keep each other company while I’m not around. Now that I have Violet, I have half as much to worry about and the living-in-my-car situation is much more bearable.
Today, I was walking from the parking garage to Starbucks to do my morning business. A man, who I guess has seen me around Starbucks before exclaimed in a joking manner, “Don’t you ever go home??” I turned to him and said in a perfectly serious tone, “No.” and turned back around. I think it threw him off a little.
On a side note: I don’t think many people in the world realize just how amazing the taste of fresh Granny Smith apples is. The way the juice explodes from its cocoon just below the tart skin… it’s really breathtaking. I’m a big fan.
The days are getting shorter again. Next time I’ll tell you about the solstice. For now, the hour is late and Adelaide is calling. Within her, I’m sure Lily and Violet are waking up, ready to seize the twilight. The world is our burrito. : )
Heather would say that I wasn’t an imposition, but I knew better than that. I stay at her house when she and her husband, Josh, are out of town, under the pretence of watching their rats. For a little while there, they would ask me to stay on days they were home, too. I let it slip that my situation would, more than likely, be semi-permanent. I wore out my welcome, then. I’m okay with that. I actually find that I prefer sleeping in my car than on her couch. (Nothing against her couch, of course, but it sags in the middle and I never know where I am once I wake up.) My car has grown more comfortable since the winter. The other day I had myself convinced that I was in a real bed just before I opened my eyes.
On a related topic… I daydream a lot about beds and bedrooms these days. I find myself staring into space and trying to recall the exact feeling of slipping my legs under the crisp, cool covers on warm summer night and feeling the sheets glide over my bare calves. The feeling of lying on my stomach, with my head on the cool pillow and the comforter pulled up all around me. I miss the smell of the cool air, carrying a hint of the scent of the metal screen that would shield me from the crawlies of the night. I miss having blinds to mollify the rising of the early morning sun. I miss carpets and doorframes and squeaking box frames. I miss bed spread. I sometimes walk the aisles of Target, trying to imagine which fine home furnishings and decorative motifs I would go with if I had a house to put them in. I’d get my office furniture from Bernie, of course. One day…
I leave Starbucks at around 9:30pm on days when I’m not working. I use the restroom and change my clothes to be appropriate for the next day (jeans if I’ll be off, work clothes if I work in the morning) and head out to my car, which is usually parked on the third floor of the parking garage. This is my new favourite location. I park just where the overhang ends, facing Look Out Mountain. In a few steps I can be in the glorious summer sun, but my car can hide safely in the shade. There’s almost never anyone up there. I pretend that it’s my backyard. I walk around barefoot, and sing. I look out over the edge at the quaint town that I live in. Right across the way there is an apartment building. It’s a high end kind of place. I get to peek in some of the patios and windows and see the big-screen T.V.’s and stainless steel kitchens. Sometimes I get jealous, and I resent the people that live there. Most of the time I get sad. One night, after I closed, I moved the car out into the moonlight, to the spots that look out on Table Mountain. I watched the glow of the city from behind the landmark, and the stars as they came out. I listened to Lifehouse on repeat and tried as hard as I could to find God. All I found was music.
I would just stay in the parking garage at night, but for two reasons. Firstly, it’s too well lit. I couldn’t sleep well with all that light all the time. Secondly, there are police that patrol the structure, starting at around eleven each night. I’m not sure if they come back hourly, or if it’s a once a night kind of thing… but I have a feeling that I wouldn’t go unnoticed for long. It’s fine to leave your car over night, that I know for sure. John’s car broke down and has been in the garage for weeks with no problems (I’m starting to leave notes in the dust on the windshield every time I pass by). However, I have a feeling that a person staying in the car over night would be a different matter entirely. So, at night, I get to the car, toss in my stuff in the passenger seat, or in the trunk, depending on my organization for the week, and turn my attention to Lily and Violet for a minute. I make sure they still have food and water, that their bedding is dry and clean, and that they get sufficiently wired up and subsequently tuckered out before we head off to bed. They love running around on the back sill of the car, where I store my aprons, comic books, coffee mark-outs, and my brand new potted plant. It’s dying already, of course. I think Daisy had magical gardening powers. I do all of this while still in the parking garage because it’s well lit. I don’t like having to turn on the dome light while in my spot for the night. It makes me self-conscious, when I do, and draws attention to the car.
I pull out of the parking garage and drive the three blocks to Heather’s apartment complex. There are a few places near here where I like to park for the night. Just before the front doors, there’s a turn off with additional parking to the left of the building. I sometimes pull in here and turn off the lights. I coast into my spot next to the SUV that has been parked with the windows half down for years through rain, snow, and all sorts of abusive weather. I know that no one pays close attention to it, so it’s like a shield in a way. Ignore the SUV, ignore the little white car beside it. Either that, or I park in the very last spot on the left. It’s right next to the river, which is beautiful to listen to during the night. If I decide to park somewhere darker, I head up, past Heather’s building, and toward the park. There’s another row of parking spots, just to the right, that are unclaimed by the building and the park, and have absolutely no restrictions. I know it’s okay to leave vehicles here overnight because of the trailer that’s been parked there for a little while. I like waking up to the sounds of people enjoying the park behind me. No one bothers me. The only real downside to this spot is that, though it’s shaded by a huge tree, it still heats up quickly in the mornings. The spots by Heather’s apartment are right up against a big wall that, along with the mountains behind it, shades my car from the morning sun for a while. This morning I slept until nearly ten in the spot by the river. Near the park, I have to leave by around nine.
Once I’m in the spot of my choosing, I turn off the car, make sure the doors are locked and make my bed. I put the driver’s seat down all the way and slide it as far as I can away from the steering wheel to give me more leg/maneuvering room. I find my body pillow and jam it up between me and the passenger’s seat to guard me from the protruding emergency brake, gear shifter, and center console. I take off my shoes, and my socks as well, on warmer nights. I put my pillow under my head, and loosely drape my comforter over my torso, more for cover than for warmth at this point in the night. Sometimes I hang a sweater from the hook above the back seat and arrange it so it blocks out the parking lot’s bright lights. I find my phone and put it in my right pocket. I find my keys and hook them on my left belt loop. I curl into a ball facing right and listen to the rats scratching around. On colder nights over the remaining winter, I would have my sleeping bag around me, and at least one sweater on. I would cover my head and face with the sleeping bag and/or comforter. It would be warm there as long as I didn’t come uncovered in the night. As soon as Spring finally hit and it warmed up, I moved my sleeping bag and coat to my storage unit. No matter what I’m wrapped in, the windows get foggy by the morning after chilly nights. I don’t care much. As long as I can sleep through the night without drawing attention to myself, I’m fine. If I get woken up and questioned, I’ll say that I’m staying with Heather and that I got locked out and couldn’t get a hold of her. At which time I’ll call her, pretending to be exasperated, and she’ll let me in. After that I’ll go back to sleeping in Walmart parking lots.
In the morning I put the pillows and comforter back into the backseat, locate my toiletry bag and brush my hair and put on deodorant. I put the seat up and put on my shoes. Then I slide the seat forward and turn on the car. I drive the three blocks back to the parking garage by Starbucks, and head up to the third level. I gather what I may need for the first part of the morning, be it my toiletry bag, my computer bag, or a book or two. I check on the rats again, and make sure they’re bruxing the morning away, and then I head down the stairs to Starbucks to pee and to brush my teeth, sometimes to change if I didn’t do that the night before. These early morning rendezvous with my store are the only time that I feel ashamed. My co-workers see me come in and know where I came from. My regulars see me and offer greetings saying, “What, do you live here or something?” I avoid eye contact and pretend to be joking when I say yes. Once I come out of the bathroom, clean and more awake, I’m fine. From there I either work, read, go on the computer, or, rarely, go back to sleep. If I’m opening I have to wait an additional few minutes until the shift gets the keys to unlock the bathrooms. Those are usually the longest minutes of my day and I inevitably start actually working a few minutes late because I don’t want to work with morning breath. Most of the people that I work with know that I live in my car. It’s hard to keep that a secret around here. I’m unclear as to whether or not my manager knows. I don’t care about that much either, though. Whether or not he knows, I’m a good worker and am always available. It’s hard to complain about an employee like that.
A few of the people I work with offered to let me stay with them or their friends when I first got here, saying they just have to check with their roommates or something like that. No one has really gotten back to me about it, and, to be honest, I don’t really want them to. I’m a jumble of mixed feelings about it… but I don’t have any money for rent at the moment, and I’d hate to mooch off anyone. I feel bad enough taking showers and doing laundry at Heather’s apartment, although she says that they don’t pay for water. I feel like a bum. I’d rather wash my hair in the sink and find a Laundromat. But I can’t say no when Heather asks me because she’s genuine and she doesn’t want to hear that I feel like I’m imposing. “It’s not imposing if I INVITE you” she has said, multiple times. It doesn’t change how I feel about it, though.
In a couple of month I may have a paycheck that doesn’t necessarily have to disappear the moment I get it. If, by then, I’m sick and tired of roughing it, I’ll look into finding a place. Until then, I’ll continue to live by these means. It’s the only way I can feel legitimate. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the generosity, it’s just that I don’t feel I’m worthy of charity. I chose to be where I am. I made an active decision. I said to myself, when I get to Colorado, I’ll live in my car until I have the money for an apartment. In all honesty, it’s not that bad. I get lonely sometimes, but I get lonely with an apartment, too.
I’m glad I got a new friend for Lily. I feel like I worry about her less now that she has a companion. They can snuggle at night and keep warm, play all day while I’m working (or vice versa), and generally just keep each other company while I’m not around. Now that I have Violet, I have half as much to worry about and the living-in-my-car situation is much more bearable.
Today, I was walking from the parking garage to Starbucks to do my morning business. A man, who I guess has seen me around Starbucks before exclaimed in a joking manner, “Don’t you ever go home??” I turned to him and said in a perfectly serious tone, “No.” and turned back around. I think it threw him off a little.
On a side note: I don’t think many people in the world realize just how amazing the taste of fresh Granny Smith apples is. The way the juice explodes from its cocoon just below the tart skin… it’s really breathtaking. I’m a big fan.
The days are getting shorter again. Next time I’ll tell you about the solstice. For now, the hour is late and Adelaide is calling. Within her, I’m sure Lily and Violet are waking up, ready to seize the twilight. The world is our burrito. : )
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Karma and Coincidence
It’s warm and wonderful here. Outside, flakes of white swirl in the summer breeze. They’re cotton, says Heather, from fields nearby, and they can get as thick as a blizzard on windy days. They remind me of snowflakes from a gentle winter storm, and flutter aimlessly as they search for their place to land. They coat the ground in corners and along the curbs in this little town. The grass at the park is speckled with them. In the evening, when the summer bugs emerge, the setting sun reflects off of the buzzing air like the dust kicked off a weary sofa in the living rooms where I grew up.
It’s hotter in the sun than I’m used to. In Florida, I hardly felt the sun. Instead, I felt the oppressive wetness of the air and the coating, stifling heat of mere existence. Here, the sun is present and sharp. You crisp beneath it quickly, and shiver in the shadows that you pass through, as though the heat has clear boundaries and refuses to be possessed in darker places. It’s cold inside Starbucks, too. We never touch the thermostat except in desperate situations, and it remains set for the hottest summer days. If you’re working, the chill is pleasant, as you can become overheated easily with all of the machines pumping out warm air. If you’re lounging in the café, as I often do, it becomes necessary to wear a sweater. My feet long for socks, and in the evening I often contemplate getting the blanket from the trunk of my car.
I went, today, while reading one of the many books that I gather from the local library, to sit on the rock wall just outside the store. I found a patch of sunlight and curled within it. Immediately I was warm and could feel that I might burn if I stayed for the duration of the novel. The patch of sunlight grew larger as the morning wore on, and soon I was entirely immersed in light. I would look up from the bright pages and find the rest of the world dimmed in comparison to the gleaming light at which, up until then, I had been staring. As I felt my neck become just too warm, I picked up my purse and moved to the shade where I stayed comfortable under the blanket of an unusually warm breeze. I thought to myself about how warm the rest of the day inevitably would be, with a breeze like that. Here in the mountains, the air speaks of what the future holds. You can smell the rain as it approaches, and all of the weather must climb over the mountains before it reaches our little valley, therefore providing us with visual notice of its impending arrival.
The nights are growing warmer now. It’s a blessing and a curse. Hopefully it will stay cool enough that I can sleep in some mornings. In the chilly nights I stay warm enough, except for the tip of my nose. If I cover my head with the blanket, my nose warms nicely, but so does the air that I inhale. I’m never comfortable when I have to breathe warm air. I’m not sure how I ever really survived the Florida summers. So, what eventually happens is, once my nose is warm, I uncover my face and breathe deeply the frosty night air. This inevitably leads to a cold nose. I end up spending the whole night covering and uncovering my face and never really getting any rest. When the nights are warm, I’m comfortable. I sleep peacefully, as I did last night. In the morning, however, usually at first light, warm nights turn to hot days and the sunlight beats down, warming my bed to those deadly temperatures we read about- associated with supermarket parking lots and small children or pets. I don’t mind waking with the sun, really. But if I’m to have any semblance of a social life here (which may or may not happen), it would be nice to be able to go to bed long after sundown with the promise of sleeping in to look forward to. Luckily, the parking structure right next to my store stays cool and quiet, and keeps my rats safe and comfortable. It also provides nice napping grounds for hot afternoons, or lazy days off.
I’m not writing today to talk about my sleeping habits, though. Today I’d like to talk about Karma and Coincidence.
While on my latest excursion, a two thousand mile round-trip road trip to my beloved San Diego, I met Dawn Mitschele. She is one of the beautiful and wonderful women who performs with Billy on various songs including ‘Mayhem is Beautiful,’ and his new single ‘Grace of Love’ from his new album, ‘The Man Who Invented the Sky,’ in which she sings the haunting chorus of “They are us/ We are them/ Love is ours/ In the End.”
I met her though Johnny at Twiggs, the coffee shop that I frequent whenever I’m in town. She and Johnny were going over some songs that she was going to perform at her friend’s wedding. When they were through, Johnny pulled up the chair beside me to play chess all afternoon with his friend Jim, like they do nearly every day at the close-knit corner coffee shop. We struck up a conversation about music and he asked why I was in town. I confessed I had driven in for the concert the following evening and he asked who I was here to see. When I mentioned Bushwalla (a name I’m used to no one recognizing), he was stunned. Bushwalla? He asked. You drove all the way here for Billy? He told me that the girl he was just practicing was Dawn from the song off the last album, ‘Mayhem is Beautiful.’ He told me he was in it as well, playing the background music. *I realized just now that his business card was in my purse, and I had intended to get in touch with him to do carvings for his impending wedding. My heart has broken all over again* Dawn came back to the shop, having forgotten something, and Johnny introduced us. I was beside myself at the chance to meet the two of them. That song is one of my favorites. Dawn is happy and sweet, and seemed excited to hear of my travels. When we parted ways I felt that I was in exactly the place I should be, doing exactly what I should be doing. Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m taking the right path in my life, but I took it as a sign that everything was the way it was meant to be.
Over the next couple of days, I ran in to Dawn often, and each time was more pleasant than the last. The time that gives rise to this blog, however, was the day of the show, while I was sitting outside of the venue. I had spent the morning at Twiggs, the early afternoon at the beach, and lunch at a tiny half-hidden café right by the ocean which sold only natural foods. I felt fresh and calm, and ready for a day of relaxation and anticipation. Dawn emerged from the theatre after sound check and was only slightly surprised to find me there. She mentioned later that night that I had become a staple in her daily life for the last two days. We chatted a bit about the day before and the day to come. She didn’t seem to understand why I would like nothing better than to spend the entire day outside the venue when I could be exploring. I tried to explain that it was part of the experience that I love so much. I like to be there long enough to become part of the scenery. I watch the people that walk by, oblivious to me and my adventure, and imagine their daily lives. I listen to the sound check inside and become almost unbearably excited for the show to come. I never get bored, instead, I revel in each moment that I sit with anticipation, knowing that after the show, I’d give almost anything to be outside waiting for it to start all over again. I mentioned that I had finished the book that I had brought to occupy myself, and she insisted on lending me the one she keeps at the bottom of her purse, water stained and read on whims. I don’t remember what it was called, but I remember what I read. There were chapters called ‘Heart,’ ‘Relationships,’ and, most importantly, ‘Karma.’
I read it in passing. I didn’t really focus on it as I was trying to absorb all of the rest of the world. The chapter on Karma I found particularly interesting, however, and read from start to finish. I’m not a very spiritual person. I don’t have a religion. I don’t believe in a creator. I do believe, however, in the goodness of people, and I hold faith that everything in the world will right itself in the end, purely on the power of will and the variance of perception. If you can make the best of a bad situation, then you will live a happy life and everything will be alright in the end. What I believe is similar to the principles of Karma discussed in the book. The book takes it a step further that I do and takes into account reincarnation and the everlasting soul. It says that if you commit a transgression or wrong in your life, a parallel act will be committed toward you, to balance the Karma. It explains bad things happening to good people as transgressions those good people committed during a past life and have no memory of. It says that everything is balanced in this way. It also says that, if something happens to you, someone does something to hurt you, for example, and you get angry at them and wish them harm or punishment, really you’re just receiving what you deserve for a past incident (in this life or another) and by becoming angry and emitting negative will, you are just creating more bad Karma. The way to get around this, it says, is to try to understand what happened and why, and to forgive and love the person who hurt you. Only in this way, says the book, can the cycle be broken and balance be restored.
Now, as I already mentioned, I don’t exactly believe this; however, I do understand the principle behind it. It is the same message that Buddha, Jesus, and all those hippies were preaching: love, forgiveness, and peace. It was nice for me, sitting there in a peaceful environment, with all of my adventures past, and the exciting new adventures to come, to reaffirm my faith in goodness. I often think to myself, would a truly good person wish bad things on someone else. No. And, seeing as I would like to be as good of a person as I can, I can’t either. This counts toward everyone, including people who may hurt me in some way.
To clarify, this doesn’t mean that I don’t believe in punishment. I believe that if you hurt someone, you should be punished accordingly. If you do something wrong, you should be brought to justice. But I don’t see justice as ‘bad’ so I’m not contradicting myself. If a man robs a bank, for example, I think he should be imprisoned and fined accordingly. This is just. The people who were in the bank, who were taken advantage of and wronged, should seek that the thief should be caught and punished. Then, they should try to understand how insecure and desperate that person must have been. They should understand that now the transgressor is serving the punishment, and then try to forgive and love him. By love him, I don’t mean they should send gifts to the prison and welcome him back with open arms once his time is served. That’s ridiculous and foolish. I mean love him as if it had been a longtime friend who committed the crime. They should keep themselves distanced, don’t trust him or support his crime, but wish him relief from his insecurities or difficult lifestyle, wish him happier times and security, wish that he turns his life around and lives comfortably and without crime in the future. It may not actually help the criminal, but the victims will heal faster, and will know that they acted well: maturely and compassionately. By hating or wishing the criminal harm, all the victims are doing is hurting themselves and not letting themselves get over what happened. It’s in the past and all people can really do is forgive, love, and try to live their lives the best way they can.
Since my first trip to San Diego back in 2007, which feels like a lifetime ago, I have tried to live positively. I’m an optimistic person now, and I feel like I live the way I’ve always wanted to. I’m happy. When I got back to Denver after the 18 hour drive home, I was buzzing with excitement. The show had been fantastic. I took advantage of every opportunity that was presented to me (including hula-hooping for the first time since grade-school) and I made incredible new friends. I pranced around my Starbucks showing everyone the pictures of my new friends, my new adventures, and the men I had recently fallen in love with (there were a few… but then, there are always a few.) One of our regulars, Bernie, a nice and ever-smiling man with bright blue eyes that twinkle with joy, saw the photos and asked if I’d put them on the computer yet. You don’t want to lose all those memories, he said. I reassured him that I’d get them onto the computer and my Facebook within the next few days and that I would never want anything to happen to them. I put up a post on Facebook that night: I am so thankful for everything I have and everyone I know. You all give me so much... ♥ ♥ ♥ I love my life!
I always try to appreciate everything I have. I never want to look back and think that I took anything for granted. I’m able to look back now and say that I took nothing that was lost for granted, and I’m proud of that. What a coincidence, though, that just a day later, I would have the chance to prove all of these words and new ideas of thankfulness, forgiveness, and love.
The next morning was Monday and I had a shift at work. While I was there, one of my coworkers asked if I could cover part of their shift that night. Of course I agreed. I never pass up hours. The shift was from 5:30p-6:30p… only an hour of work. After my morning shift I took a nap in my car, then went back inside to work for an hour. I came back after my shift and my purse was gone. Someone had reached in through the cracked window, unlocked the doors, and taken my bag. At first I didn’t believe it. I went back inside to check the store, thinking that I may have taken it in with me and just not remembered. No. I went back to the car, checked everywhere… it was gone. I went back to the store, to the back room, and started to cry. My wallet was in there. My green card was in there. My money was in there. Then, oh no! My CAMERA was in there! My iPod was in there! My music and my pictures! They took my music and my pictures! Of all the things they could have taken, they HAD to take my music and my pictures. I was devastated. I felt used and violated, I felt empty, I felt alone…
I did everything that I was supposed to do. I cancelled my credit cards and debit cards, went to the police station and filed a report, contacted immigration to get a new green card, etc. I eventually wrote down a list of everything that was in the purse for the insurance company and it totaled nearly $1500 in value. Seeing that number made my stomach churn. If I had realized that I had so much value invested in that purse, there is no way I would have let it out of my sight for a minute, let alone an hour (an hour in which, might I add, I earned $9 at work). For a few days at work I was depressed and angry. I cried once to Heather, I’ve been homeless for two months. Two whole months! I said. And I’m further indebted to my parents and worse off than when I first got here! I felt so lost, for those few days; I didn’t feel like I’d ever be happy again.
But I stayed strong. Instead of falling into my former patterns of depression and self-pity, I fell back on my new-found optimism. The lyrics to the song ‘Better’ by Jason Mraz rang in my head and helped to calm my depression. The chapter from that book that Dawn lent to me the week before rang in my head and helped to calm my anger. I thought to myself, ‘It always gets better, I know it gets better. Now what I have to do is try to understand why that person took my purse. I have to forgive them. I have to try to love them.’ It was hard until I remembered that I’ve shoplifted before. When I was finishing High School and I was friends with Amanda, I was deep in depression and felt I had no worth. I hated myself and wanted to feel accepted any way I could. I did a lot that I’m not proud of, though I wouldn’t be who I am today without my past. A few times, while out together, Amanda and I would steal things: small things usually, rings, jewelry, key chains. Usually they were presents for one another or for friends. When I stopped hanging out with Amanda, right around the time when I found Jason Mraz and started to discover my own worth, I stopped doing things like that. So I used that to try to figure this situation out. I stole because it helped me to fit in, because I felt cool and accepted. I felt like I wouldn’t be those things without it. I can’t imagine how badly this person must feel about themselves to steal something so valuable right out of my car. Whether they did it to impress someone, or even for the money, they must be in a desperate and seemingly hopeless situation. Even if they seem happy, I’m sure they have no self-respect and that makes me sad for them. I still hope that they’re caught and they are judged for what they did, but I also hope that they find a better way of looking for themselves than theft. I hope that one day, they can be happy with who they are and what they have. I’m trying to love them, and send out my good thoughts for them and their future.
I’m thankful for my parents, who are always there to help me back onto my feet, and who I will repay with more than just money, in time.
I’m thankful for Heather, who was a wonderful shoulder to cry on. She’s a true friend.
I’m thankful for the safety of my rats, Lily and Violet. They were in the car when it was broken into and a more sadistic criminal may have taken advantage of their vulnerability.
I’m thankful for my phone and my laptop. My phone and charger, which normally would have been in my purse, were safely in my possession during all of this. My laptop was in the trunk of my car, a place where the thief, thankfully, didn’t look.
I’m thankful to Officer Mehnert for being so sympathetic and kind during our encounter.
I’m thankful that my possessions were covered under my parents’ homeowners insurance and I can use the money we’ll get to pay them back for all of their kindness.
I’m thankful for my health, my car (which was undamaged), and my AUX cable, which they didn’t take and which allows me to use my phone as an MP3 player in my car in lieu of my iPod
All of this I’m thankful for, and more… so much more.
I am so thankful for everything I have and everyone I know. You all give me so much... ♥ ♥ ♥ I love my life!
It’s hotter in the sun than I’m used to. In Florida, I hardly felt the sun. Instead, I felt the oppressive wetness of the air and the coating, stifling heat of mere existence. Here, the sun is present and sharp. You crisp beneath it quickly, and shiver in the shadows that you pass through, as though the heat has clear boundaries and refuses to be possessed in darker places. It’s cold inside Starbucks, too. We never touch the thermostat except in desperate situations, and it remains set for the hottest summer days. If you’re working, the chill is pleasant, as you can become overheated easily with all of the machines pumping out warm air. If you’re lounging in the café, as I often do, it becomes necessary to wear a sweater. My feet long for socks, and in the evening I often contemplate getting the blanket from the trunk of my car.
I went, today, while reading one of the many books that I gather from the local library, to sit on the rock wall just outside the store. I found a patch of sunlight and curled within it. Immediately I was warm and could feel that I might burn if I stayed for the duration of the novel. The patch of sunlight grew larger as the morning wore on, and soon I was entirely immersed in light. I would look up from the bright pages and find the rest of the world dimmed in comparison to the gleaming light at which, up until then, I had been staring. As I felt my neck become just too warm, I picked up my purse and moved to the shade where I stayed comfortable under the blanket of an unusually warm breeze. I thought to myself about how warm the rest of the day inevitably would be, with a breeze like that. Here in the mountains, the air speaks of what the future holds. You can smell the rain as it approaches, and all of the weather must climb over the mountains before it reaches our little valley, therefore providing us with visual notice of its impending arrival.
The nights are growing warmer now. It’s a blessing and a curse. Hopefully it will stay cool enough that I can sleep in some mornings. In the chilly nights I stay warm enough, except for the tip of my nose. If I cover my head with the blanket, my nose warms nicely, but so does the air that I inhale. I’m never comfortable when I have to breathe warm air. I’m not sure how I ever really survived the Florida summers. So, what eventually happens is, once my nose is warm, I uncover my face and breathe deeply the frosty night air. This inevitably leads to a cold nose. I end up spending the whole night covering and uncovering my face and never really getting any rest. When the nights are warm, I’m comfortable. I sleep peacefully, as I did last night. In the morning, however, usually at first light, warm nights turn to hot days and the sunlight beats down, warming my bed to those deadly temperatures we read about- associated with supermarket parking lots and small children or pets. I don’t mind waking with the sun, really. But if I’m to have any semblance of a social life here (which may or may not happen), it would be nice to be able to go to bed long after sundown with the promise of sleeping in to look forward to. Luckily, the parking structure right next to my store stays cool and quiet, and keeps my rats safe and comfortable. It also provides nice napping grounds for hot afternoons, or lazy days off.
I’m not writing today to talk about my sleeping habits, though. Today I’d like to talk about Karma and Coincidence.
While on my latest excursion, a two thousand mile round-trip road trip to my beloved San Diego, I met Dawn Mitschele. She is one of the beautiful and wonderful women who performs with Billy on various songs including ‘Mayhem is Beautiful,’ and his new single ‘Grace of Love’ from his new album, ‘The Man Who Invented the Sky,’ in which she sings the haunting chorus of “They are us/ We are them/ Love is ours/ In the End.”
I met her though Johnny at Twiggs, the coffee shop that I frequent whenever I’m in town. She and Johnny were going over some songs that she was going to perform at her friend’s wedding. When they were through, Johnny pulled up the chair beside me to play chess all afternoon with his friend Jim, like they do nearly every day at the close-knit corner coffee shop. We struck up a conversation about music and he asked why I was in town. I confessed I had driven in for the concert the following evening and he asked who I was here to see. When I mentioned Bushwalla (a name I’m used to no one recognizing), he was stunned. Bushwalla? He asked. You drove all the way here for Billy? He told me that the girl he was just practicing was Dawn from the song off the last album, ‘Mayhem is Beautiful.’ He told me he was in it as well, playing the background music. *I realized just now that his business card was in my purse, and I had intended to get in touch with him to do carvings for his impending wedding. My heart has broken all over again* Dawn came back to the shop, having forgotten something, and Johnny introduced us. I was beside myself at the chance to meet the two of them. That song is one of my favorites. Dawn is happy and sweet, and seemed excited to hear of my travels. When we parted ways I felt that I was in exactly the place I should be, doing exactly what I should be doing. Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m taking the right path in my life, but I took it as a sign that everything was the way it was meant to be.
Over the next couple of days, I ran in to Dawn often, and each time was more pleasant than the last. The time that gives rise to this blog, however, was the day of the show, while I was sitting outside of the venue. I had spent the morning at Twiggs, the early afternoon at the beach, and lunch at a tiny half-hidden café right by the ocean which sold only natural foods. I felt fresh and calm, and ready for a day of relaxation and anticipation. Dawn emerged from the theatre after sound check and was only slightly surprised to find me there. She mentioned later that night that I had become a staple in her daily life for the last two days. We chatted a bit about the day before and the day to come. She didn’t seem to understand why I would like nothing better than to spend the entire day outside the venue when I could be exploring. I tried to explain that it was part of the experience that I love so much. I like to be there long enough to become part of the scenery. I watch the people that walk by, oblivious to me and my adventure, and imagine their daily lives. I listen to the sound check inside and become almost unbearably excited for the show to come. I never get bored, instead, I revel in each moment that I sit with anticipation, knowing that after the show, I’d give almost anything to be outside waiting for it to start all over again. I mentioned that I had finished the book that I had brought to occupy myself, and she insisted on lending me the one she keeps at the bottom of her purse, water stained and read on whims. I don’t remember what it was called, but I remember what I read. There were chapters called ‘Heart,’ ‘Relationships,’ and, most importantly, ‘Karma.’
I read it in passing. I didn’t really focus on it as I was trying to absorb all of the rest of the world. The chapter on Karma I found particularly interesting, however, and read from start to finish. I’m not a very spiritual person. I don’t have a religion. I don’t believe in a creator. I do believe, however, in the goodness of people, and I hold faith that everything in the world will right itself in the end, purely on the power of will and the variance of perception. If you can make the best of a bad situation, then you will live a happy life and everything will be alright in the end. What I believe is similar to the principles of Karma discussed in the book. The book takes it a step further that I do and takes into account reincarnation and the everlasting soul. It says that if you commit a transgression or wrong in your life, a parallel act will be committed toward you, to balance the Karma. It explains bad things happening to good people as transgressions those good people committed during a past life and have no memory of. It says that everything is balanced in this way. It also says that, if something happens to you, someone does something to hurt you, for example, and you get angry at them and wish them harm or punishment, really you’re just receiving what you deserve for a past incident (in this life or another) and by becoming angry and emitting negative will, you are just creating more bad Karma. The way to get around this, it says, is to try to understand what happened and why, and to forgive and love the person who hurt you. Only in this way, says the book, can the cycle be broken and balance be restored.
Now, as I already mentioned, I don’t exactly believe this; however, I do understand the principle behind it. It is the same message that Buddha, Jesus, and all those hippies were preaching: love, forgiveness, and peace. It was nice for me, sitting there in a peaceful environment, with all of my adventures past, and the exciting new adventures to come, to reaffirm my faith in goodness. I often think to myself, would a truly good person wish bad things on someone else. No. And, seeing as I would like to be as good of a person as I can, I can’t either. This counts toward everyone, including people who may hurt me in some way.
To clarify, this doesn’t mean that I don’t believe in punishment. I believe that if you hurt someone, you should be punished accordingly. If you do something wrong, you should be brought to justice. But I don’t see justice as ‘bad’ so I’m not contradicting myself. If a man robs a bank, for example, I think he should be imprisoned and fined accordingly. This is just. The people who were in the bank, who were taken advantage of and wronged, should seek that the thief should be caught and punished. Then, they should try to understand how insecure and desperate that person must have been. They should understand that now the transgressor is serving the punishment, and then try to forgive and love him. By love him, I don’t mean they should send gifts to the prison and welcome him back with open arms once his time is served. That’s ridiculous and foolish. I mean love him as if it had been a longtime friend who committed the crime. They should keep themselves distanced, don’t trust him or support his crime, but wish him relief from his insecurities or difficult lifestyle, wish him happier times and security, wish that he turns his life around and lives comfortably and without crime in the future. It may not actually help the criminal, but the victims will heal faster, and will know that they acted well: maturely and compassionately. By hating or wishing the criminal harm, all the victims are doing is hurting themselves and not letting themselves get over what happened. It’s in the past and all people can really do is forgive, love, and try to live their lives the best way they can.
Since my first trip to San Diego back in 2007, which feels like a lifetime ago, I have tried to live positively. I’m an optimistic person now, and I feel like I live the way I’ve always wanted to. I’m happy. When I got back to Denver after the 18 hour drive home, I was buzzing with excitement. The show had been fantastic. I took advantage of every opportunity that was presented to me (including hula-hooping for the first time since grade-school) and I made incredible new friends. I pranced around my Starbucks showing everyone the pictures of my new friends, my new adventures, and the men I had recently fallen in love with (there were a few… but then, there are always a few.) One of our regulars, Bernie, a nice and ever-smiling man with bright blue eyes that twinkle with joy, saw the photos and asked if I’d put them on the computer yet. You don’t want to lose all those memories, he said. I reassured him that I’d get them onto the computer and my Facebook within the next few days and that I would never want anything to happen to them. I put up a post on Facebook that night: I am so thankful for everything I have and everyone I know. You all give me so much... ♥ ♥ ♥ I love my life!
I always try to appreciate everything I have. I never want to look back and think that I took anything for granted. I’m able to look back now and say that I took nothing that was lost for granted, and I’m proud of that. What a coincidence, though, that just a day later, I would have the chance to prove all of these words and new ideas of thankfulness, forgiveness, and love.
The next morning was Monday and I had a shift at work. While I was there, one of my coworkers asked if I could cover part of their shift that night. Of course I agreed. I never pass up hours. The shift was from 5:30p-6:30p… only an hour of work. After my morning shift I took a nap in my car, then went back inside to work for an hour. I came back after my shift and my purse was gone. Someone had reached in through the cracked window, unlocked the doors, and taken my bag. At first I didn’t believe it. I went back inside to check the store, thinking that I may have taken it in with me and just not remembered. No. I went back to the car, checked everywhere… it was gone. I went back to the store, to the back room, and started to cry. My wallet was in there. My green card was in there. My money was in there. Then, oh no! My CAMERA was in there! My iPod was in there! My music and my pictures! They took my music and my pictures! Of all the things they could have taken, they HAD to take my music and my pictures. I was devastated. I felt used and violated, I felt empty, I felt alone…
I did everything that I was supposed to do. I cancelled my credit cards and debit cards, went to the police station and filed a report, contacted immigration to get a new green card, etc. I eventually wrote down a list of everything that was in the purse for the insurance company and it totaled nearly $1500 in value. Seeing that number made my stomach churn. If I had realized that I had so much value invested in that purse, there is no way I would have let it out of my sight for a minute, let alone an hour (an hour in which, might I add, I earned $9 at work). For a few days at work I was depressed and angry. I cried once to Heather, I’ve been homeless for two months. Two whole months! I said. And I’m further indebted to my parents and worse off than when I first got here! I felt so lost, for those few days; I didn’t feel like I’d ever be happy again.
But I stayed strong. Instead of falling into my former patterns of depression and self-pity, I fell back on my new-found optimism. The lyrics to the song ‘Better’ by Jason Mraz rang in my head and helped to calm my depression. The chapter from that book that Dawn lent to me the week before rang in my head and helped to calm my anger. I thought to myself, ‘It always gets better, I know it gets better. Now what I have to do is try to understand why that person took my purse. I have to forgive them. I have to try to love them.’ It was hard until I remembered that I’ve shoplifted before. When I was finishing High School and I was friends with Amanda, I was deep in depression and felt I had no worth. I hated myself and wanted to feel accepted any way I could. I did a lot that I’m not proud of, though I wouldn’t be who I am today without my past. A few times, while out together, Amanda and I would steal things: small things usually, rings, jewelry, key chains. Usually they were presents for one another or for friends. When I stopped hanging out with Amanda, right around the time when I found Jason Mraz and started to discover my own worth, I stopped doing things like that. So I used that to try to figure this situation out. I stole because it helped me to fit in, because I felt cool and accepted. I felt like I wouldn’t be those things without it. I can’t imagine how badly this person must feel about themselves to steal something so valuable right out of my car. Whether they did it to impress someone, or even for the money, they must be in a desperate and seemingly hopeless situation. Even if they seem happy, I’m sure they have no self-respect and that makes me sad for them. I still hope that they’re caught and they are judged for what they did, but I also hope that they find a better way of looking for themselves than theft. I hope that one day, they can be happy with who they are and what they have. I’m trying to love them, and send out my good thoughts for them and their future.
I’m thankful for my parents, who are always there to help me back onto my feet, and who I will repay with more than just money, in time.
I’m thankful for Heather, who was a wonderful shoulder to cry on. She’s a true friend.
I’m thankful for the safety of my rats, Lily and Violet. They were in the car when it was broken into and a more sadistic criminal may have taken advantage of their vulnerability.
I’m thankful for my phone and my laptop. My phone and charger, which normally would have been in my purse, were safely in my possession during all of this. My laptop was in the trunk of my car, a place where the thief, thankfully, didn’t look.
I’m thankful to Officer Mehnert for being so sympathetic and kind during our encounter.
I’m thankful that my possessions were covered under my parents’ homeowners insurance and I can use the money we’ll get to pay them back for all of their kindness.
I’m thankful for my health, my car (which was undamaged), and my AUX cable, which they didn’t take and which allows me to use my phone as an MP3 player in my car in lieu of my iPod
All of this I’m thankful for, and more… so much more.
I am so thankful for everything I have and everyone I know. You all give me so much... ♥ ♥ ♥ I love my life!
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