Day 27: Death, Suicide, and folks left behind.

The beauty of a blog is that I have a false sense of anonymity. I have, 20+ readers, my photo is totally at the top of the screen, and yet I feel like I could express any sort creepy manifesto, and the consequences might go as far as the comment section. I think this is what is wrong with the internet. We don't have to look people in the eye when we talk about immigration, or welfare. 

Anywho, tonight's topic is... sensitive. It seems like this comes up in my life every so often. I suppose I should count my blessings that it doesn't come around more often. Tonight I'd like to explore suicide. Specifically, suicide of teens. 

When I was in high school my friend's sister committed suicide. We weren't especially close. I remember her sister as being this TINY little thing with beautiful brown hair. She always wore black and rarely smiled. You see? Right there. Right there I thought, "Well plenty of teenagers don't smile." 

I went to highschool in the hay day of Emo music and fashion; side swooped bangs and Something Corporate. I listened to Dashboard Confessional like it was my religion and I slammed my fists on steering wheels while blaming God for all that was wrong in my life. Read as: I was a fair-weathered emo kid. I wasn't allowed to have a crazy haircut, but I did have the oh-so-trendy side bangs (still do... is that a problem?). I wasn't allowed to wear all black, though I always admired its slimming effects. I had plenty of friends who went full on emo kid. But I remember thinking when I found out she'd killed herself, "Wow. She must have been really sad."

And that statement is the Crux. 

You see, I have never wanted to kill myself. I have thought I was going to die. I have almost died. But I have never wanted to die. Up until very recently, I thought all people who committed suicide wanted to die. But in recent months, I have developed another theory. This theory, for the sake of limiting hormonal causes, excludes those on anti-depressants or those with addiction issues. First, we have to cut out the idea that suicide is easy. Suicide isn't the easy way out. Anyone who puts thought into killing themselves must immediately realize the amount of planning it takes, and must admit that the only feasible option is to end it. How difficult it must be to wager that death is better than tomorrow. How painful to think whatever the present situation; it cannot improve.

So, my theory is that you don't have to be really sad to commit suicide. You simply have to be out of perceived options. 

A few weeks ago I saw that my friend had resumed facebook activity for her younger cousin. I didn't think anything of it at first, but then I noticed the content of the updates and they were definitely about her attempted suicide. The remarkable thing about the two suicides I've referenced tonight is that both girls had loving families. Both girls were particularly beautiful. And both of them were incredibly self-critical. I'm talking, talented, beautiful, smart, and mostly outgoing girls. These girls had friends. They were both, sadly, bullied.

 I hate that bullying is the common denominator. My knee jerk asshole response is, "Those girls need a backbone!" But what those girls needed was someone to show them that high school is completely useless for social interaction. The first two years of high school for me were awful. I constantly felt like the third wheel, and there was a group of girls who were so incredibly mean. I was raised by my father who simply told me to punch them. I never did. I took it like a coward. Remember the "It Get's Better" campaign? That needs an expansion and revitalisation. I want to go back to my high school and shake the students. I want to scream at them that high school is irrelevant and that there's a whole world waiting for them. 

So my message tonight is this. If you are contemplating hurting yourself, please ask for help. Message me. I'm pretty damn good at finding low cost counselors. At the very least I'll talk to you for a bit. If you have the availability to speak to teenagers, tell them to pay their dues in high school and as soon as they are able, to go out and set the world on fire. 

df

Day 26: Where you work

I'm addicted to employment. I've had a job since I was 16. I once took 8 months off because I was a full time student... and I went stir crazy. Even if the money is slight, I have to have something I get money from. When I moved to California, I applied to well over 100 jobs and didn't get anything. I applied to a Nanny job and was told I was over qualified. I got angry and told the woman that if there was anything else I wouldn't have applied. 3 years later I quit and she cried. Then I took 4 months off of nannying (working in senior care, worst. Idea. ever.) and returned for another 3 years. She cried too. Then I worked at a summer camp (Second worst. idea. ever) and then I found another nanny job. I work one day a week. There's 4 children. I honestly believe that nannying has allowed me to emotionally satisfy my need for children. Despite my fears that I wont love my children, despite really not liking children that much, I greatly enjoy my job. It's completely outside of chiropractic. It's competely outside of my house, my relationship, its completely removed and wonderful.

Day 25: favorite drink

Why have one? Let's have catagories of drinks:

1. My favorite guilty pleasure is Coke. I love coke. Cokey coke coke, here it goes down, down into my liver. Blech. I hate that I love coke. I'm taking a basic nutrition class and I've learned the pathway of fructose in the digestive tract and it is, in a word, abysmal. It bypasses normal sugar breakdown and goes straight to the liver, it steeply increases insulin which almost instantaneously converts the fructose to fat for energy storage. However, Costco sells what we call "Mexican Coke", which has regular sugar in it... and I feel mildly less guilty about that. 

2. My favorite "health" drink is water. I can't do kamboucha. I get that it's good for me, but I usually think its gross. Coconut water will actually make me gag. It's like it wants to be sweet, but it just can't get there. It wants to be salty, but it's not quite there. I am an anti-flourider. I think as long as we have enough magnesium, calcium, and other elements, flouride is an unnecessary risk. I also like iced tea, and if I feel like giving myself a dose of cancer, I'll occasionally drink starbucks, please reference the guilt factor of number 1.

3. My favorite alcoholic beverage is a Gimlet. If that's too fancy for where I am, I'll do a gin and tonic, if that's too fancy I'll put myself back in Smirnoff Ice territory and get a malibu and pineapple. Note* I do not drink Smirnoff Ice. 

4. This is a half-drink. Lately I've been drinking smoothies in th morning. Protein powder, coconut milk, peanutbutter, cocoa powder, frozen bananas and ice. It counts. It's liquid.

Day 24: Pole dancing

Pole Dancing; The good, The bad, and The shoes.

I am from a small town in South Carolina. My county, at least when I was in high school 10 years ago, ranked second highest in the US for teen pregnancy. We were also pretty famous for our STD statistics, no big deal.  Sex was happening. Sexuality, however, was not. Considering I moved from there when I was 18, this didn't really affect me too much. I went to the mountains and studied geology and soils. I graduated and moved to California to be with a boy. A few months after I moved here, my boyfriend insisted that I learn to shoot a gun. I was pretty freaked out by handguns, and I still am, but we went shotgun shooting at our local gun range. For the record, I'm a pretty good shot at Trap. There was a girl there, decked out in camouflage, knitting. I knew with that kind of juxtaposition we would be good friends; and we were. What do you get a girl like that for Christmas? Pole dancing classes. We went. It was awkward. Giggly even. And Thus begins The Good, The Bad, and The shoes.

The Good: We are not present in our bodies. We don't own sexuality, we don't own our movements, we don't own what we are capable of without using our words. In movement we can say "approach me" or we can say "bug off". We are taught mechanics of movement; walking, sitting, standing, running. Sometimes we learn a sport but we do not learn, usually, the art of conversation in movement. In this, pole dancing isn't unique. Dancing is conversational movement. However, pole dancing is a pretty specific conversation. So pole dancing has taught me to appreciate what I can do, and what I can present with my motions. Pole dancing is hard. It's basically one solid pull-up for however long the song you are dancing to is. Pole dancing, especially in practice (as opposed to performance) is a reminder to not take yourself too seriously. Much like other dance classes there are mirrors. You can watch your face scrunch up as you realize you are about to hit the ground hard. You can see how silly you look when you are learning something new; but you can also directly observe improvement. 

The bad: There's a stigma. Pole dancing is for strippers. Pole dancing is trashy. Pole dancing is a way to make money when you aren't smart enough to do anything else. People have asked me if I get naked in class. It sounds harsh, but I've heard it. Because people think pole dancers are trashy and stupid, they also assume it is easy. This, depending on your outlook, can be a major benefit. Watching people realize how hard it is their first time in class, is fun. I've been doing it on and off for 2 years, and I still can't do basic things. Pole dancing requires physical fitness; or at least the pursuit of it. You have to be willing to look dumb. You will look dumb, and just like most other things in life, it is unlikely you will be the most talented person in the room. General etiquette in class is that it's not about anyone else but you. I've been a number of times and have never felt like the "in the business" dancers were looking at me at all. 

The shoes: They are so lame. Some people wear shoes like that every day, on purpose, and aren't in the business of pole dancing. As I sit here with my orthopedic clogs, reveling in their comfort and ease of putting on, walking, taking off, I know I'm just not that kind of girl. I have one pair of kitten heels (less than 1.5 inches in height) that I can wear for a few hours, but that's about as far as I can take it. I can't walk in the platform stilettos. I can't really even put them on without being overwhelmed. But, here's a fun fact: the tops of the heels are usually plastic, or a really grippy material. Grippy shoes means less grippy arms and legs. This is a good thing. Metallic poles burn your skin if, say, you lack a little upper body strength and your forearms and calves slide. The shoes are a huge ego boost if you can't do a pull-up but you want to climb the pole. It's the equivalent to using stretch bands to assist on a pull-up bar. So, if you go, get shoes, don't put them on until absolutely necessary, use them for what they are good for, and then take them off. Or prance around in them with all of the grace and elegance that I lack. 

In conclusion, pole dancing is a non-traditional means of expressing self, working out, and testing your own limits. I know a handful of students who are amazing artists in pole dancing, aerial silks, and aerial hoops. If you have ever been curious, Atomic Allure, Twirly Girl, Phoenix Aerial Art and Pole are reputable places in the area, each one has their own focus though, so check out their websites and see which one fits you best. 

Day 23: The Weather

The weather is warm. No. It's hot as balls. No. It's actually hotter than balls. Currently its a cool 85 degrees, but for the past 4 days it has been over 95 degrees. Boo. Effin. Hiss. I am not a fan. I went to South Carolina and the weather was so perfect it felt like the air knew what temperature to be to convince me to be there. 

That was boring. Ok, so what I really wanted to say about weather is that it is a terrible crutch in conversation. I immediately lose a hair of respect for someone who starts to tell you about the weather once the conversation lulls. The weather should only be mentioned in passing when its been so monotonously beautiful that its grandeure is lost. 

So **cough cough** Weather:

The weather today (because this is a two parter blog about 2 weeks apart) is chilly. It's silly that we call it fall. It's 65 degrees with a high of 70, but we call it fall weather. The only difference is the days are shorter.

Day 22: You

I am a word vomiter. I enjoy nature, and music. I like cooking, only I hate cleaning it up, so in essence I enjoy making messes that sometimes taste good. I am notoriously outspoken. When it comes to writing I can mostly contain myself, but verbal or facial expression is absolutely unfiltered. It is really a pain. I am in school. I feel like I've been in school forever. I enjoy it and feel that this time, unlike all those other times before (only not really), will be different. I am afraid of death. I totter on whether God exists or not. Most of the time I find it easy to believe that God exists, I just have a difficult time discerning my own thoughts on the after life. I have to believe that something happens. Most of the time I can cast it aside; live now, think now. be now. But sometimes, usually at really inappropriate moments, the thoughts take over and I feel like I'm drowning. I am a planner. I like plans and I like people who follow plans. I don't exactly like being in charge, but someone must be in charge, and often I take on that responsibility. As a product, I often present myself as an "alpha female". I was taught there is an absolute wrong and right, but as time goes on I see more and more exceptions to that concept and I losing faith in the concept of right and wrong. I am not especially emotional. I feel things, I feel deeply, but its kind of like a million fish swimming in the deepest part of a lake; the surface just has tiny wisps of waves. I believe in self-preservation; I am not always good at the practice, but I do believe in it. Most of the time I love myself. I am swayed on this topic because part of me says "This is my temple, this is my home." But the other part of me says, "This is temporary, you are a soul you have a body." I am getting married. While this isn't always the case, today I feel like being married is the easiest thing I am doing... I would actually say that most days that is the hardest thing to do. I love/hate social media. It allows me to look at people I'd rather not talk to, but also exsposes me to horrible and sad things. I have one friend documenting the last year of her life and her meth addiction. Her recovery is beautiful, but the recollection of her struggle is awful. I also saw 3 complete strangers' memorial on facebook. One was a baby. I shouldn't care but I do. I think the exposure is supposed to make us not care, but oh how it shakes me. He'd just learned to master some very cute facial expressions. It broke my heart. I hate snakes. Down right hate. I am from South Carolina. I just visited and it was a lovely time. I love to travel, and only recently did I really start doing it a lot. I like reading. I like sitting and thinking. Sometimes I like talking to people, but my favorite people to talk to are people who don't talk often. It makes me feel special when people tell me their thoughts. I have been in love 3 times. I think positively about each of them. Unlike most people, my most genuine and fruitful friendships started in highschool. Those 2 girls are amazing, and always ready for a chit chat, despite the vast differences in our lives. 

Day 21: a limerick for the wee one

I stopped in to defecate on her adorned throne

She heard me pontificate and asked me for a bone

I let her know right off the bat that all she'd do is shame

She huffed and puffed, and kicked and spat-- said I'd done the same.

The witches said things might take this turn, but I had to take a chance

The blood that shares our veins might burn but I thought we'd overcome the can'ts. 

I returned to the pire and begged the witches for the cure

"courage is sold to the biggest buyer, make sure your intentions are pure.

Did you want her to take flight, for the sake of touching the sky?

Or did you want proof of your own fight? Looking down from your own throne up high?"

My mouth clamped shut, my heart thrummed in my chest

My thoughts were cut, to the little who's life needed the best.

Who's little heart was broken and trampled and beaten and forgotten

Who's life was damned and crumpled, and left begotten

I remembered where she came from, I remembered her sad little eyes

My heart was torn from where she could go to where she'd come, 

And I remembered that the good shephard, let us go our own way.

I remembered being on the cusp of a great flying bird, or becoming a wisp or fray. 

I'll never know what course of events, let me make my choice,

but the greater lesson in all that time spent, is that the time came and I gained a voice

I want to make her path go with mine, I want the common ground

But we are simply a divided vine, that was never really bound.

Day 20: What if you`re going to write a story about desperation with an evangelist as the main character and a memo as the key object? Set your story in a ghost town.

Mark:

This morning I broke the schedule. Scheduling is important. I have appointments to keep, planned recreation and planned meals. The schedule is as follows:

7:00 wake up. This is not under my control. The sun blares into my room between 6:47-6:56 year around. 

7:15 morning poop. Health begins in the toilet.

7:45 Breakfast. Dried fruit, canned milk, and rice. Sometimes I make rice pudding, but that's only for special occasions.

8:00 Prayer hour. Simple enough. I pray for the lost souls of my community and the global community at large. 

9:00 Evangelize. At this time every day I go out into my community and post signs and tactfully insert boards througout the town. 

11:00 Lunch. Rice, dried fruit, and water. There was a time in our community's past that water was scarce, but these days the water is ample. God is Good.

12:00 Prayer hour. In this time I pray for my own strength to provide for my community. I pray to be led in the direction my community needs. 

1:00 house maintenance. I used to share the house with 6 other people. It was actually a boarding hosue, but God has provided and I was able to buy the house for basically nothing!

3:00 Nap. The arid environment is difficult on the house. It is laborious to keep the house in tip top shape, but I want my community to know that I take pride in what God has provided. 

4:00 hunting. I am not especially good at it. I ran out of ammunition about 3 months ago. So far I haven't caught anything alive, but I have come across some recently deceased birds and rabbits. Meat is always a pleasant treat. 

6:00 Dinner. Canned milk, dried fruit and rice. 

7:00 2 hour scripture reading. 

9:00 bed. 

So, why would I disrupt such a well oiled machine? Typically I check my post box once a week, when I ride to the nearest town and grab supplies. I buy canned milk, rice, and dried fruit. I decided to buy more in bulk recently and went 2 weeks without needing to make the trip. I went to the nearest town on Tuesday this week, and checked my box. There was a memo stating that I'd spent my inheritance and that no more money would be deposited into my accounts. In that same letter my sister told me it was time to come back to St. Louis. She's never understood my need to retrieve the lost lambs of our world. She insists that she come to Boomtown and help me gathher my things. Because I hadn't checked the post in 2 weeks, she was due any day. 

Sylvia:

I left my family behind and took the train to Santa Fe. From Santa Fe I had to charter a mini caravan of 3 wagons to carry enough supplies to make it to Boomtown. The name is a joke. It's not even it's real name. People call it Boomtown because there was a population "boom", and then much like a "boom" the town echoed briefly and then died out.

My delusional brother is the only person there. 

He had a family once. We were raised in money. We weren't embarassingly wealthy, but we are both educated and were certainly prepared to continue our quality of life. Mark met Beth, and instantly fell in love. She wasn't quite as well off as we were but she wasn't a pauper by any means. He wanted to establish his career first, and did so easily. He was accepted into a local law firm and made associate in less than 5 years. He and Beth married. Four years in, everyone was beginning the lack of pitter-pattering feet and I asked Beth about it. She was upset, but said that God would do it on His terms. In the meantime, a man visited with Mark and proposed a Gold mining operation. Mark was eager to expand his income. I don't know why. He was doing fine enough at the law office. Any who, he gave the man money, and then apparently gave him 3 money wires. The total was over 20,000 dollars. The man never sent any bonds, or land rights. The man swindled him. Beth told him that God had told her to go take care of her dying father. We never found out where she went, but we know that her father died a year ago under the care of hired nurses. 

I think he came out here to find her. I don't think she's out here, but in any case he landed in Boomtown in the middle of the "boom". Housing was hard to come by, and he asked us for money to get a law office started. My husband and I gave him the money. He took to a boarding house and that's the last we heard of him for two years. I received a telegraph from the Doctor in Morgantown, the nearest town to Boomtown, around Mark's 29th birthday. He wrote in concern for my brother's mental fortitude. He said that Boomtown had basically been abandoned and that Mark insisted on staying to "tend the flock". This was particularly odd because my brother never received training in ministering. We are Presbyterian, but only loosely. Beyond that, one would think that tending a flock would mean a flock was present. 

Our mother died when we were in grammar school, and Father died when we were away at boarding school. We were left with a decent inheritance. Mine allowed me to finish school, and provide a dowry for my now husband. Mark didn't have access to his inheritance until he was 25, which made law school difficult for him financially, but he worked hard and did a lot with our family's reputation. The bank made monthly deposits into his account, unbeknownst to me he'd increased the deposit amounts, thus taking a 25 year inheritance allotment to 8 years. 

The boarding house was abandoned, so I know he didn't pay money for it. I have no idea what he's spent the money on. I have no idea what I'm getting myself in to when we arrive. 

Mark: 

I saw the first wagon approaching midday. They moseyed but dust flew up like they were in a sprint. It was really dry outside of town.  

I grabbed my hat and walked out to meet the wagons. My sister was shrugged up to a weasely looking man. He got down first and offered a dirty hand, which my sister delicately and sparingly used to descend the rickety steps. She wiped her hands and straightened her clothes for a moment. She looked up at me with a flash of disdain, erased the expression, and replaced it with an endearing head turn. We embraced. I took her by the hands and led her back to the house. I released one hand when we got to the steps of the house. Her eyes combed the outside, painfully seeking out flaws, to which there were none. 

"Mark, it's a lovely home"

"Thanks. I've worked hard on it but it is a great haven for weary souls." I put my hands in my pockets and rocked back ony my heels. "So Sylviva, what brings you out? You didn't have to come all the way out here. You easily could've corresponded by letter. Can I help you with anything?"

"Is that a joke? What could I possibly need help with that you could help me with?! Will you pray for me? Ha! You are the one who needs help! That's why I'm here! To bring you out of this dillusion!"

"Sylvia I have a very important job. I know my calling now. I am meant to bring these people to God. I know I've been slow going but-"

"Mark, you are alone here. What people are you bringing to God? Do you see people?"

"Of course I see people! The town name is BOOMtown!"

"When was the last time you saw another soul?"

--waiting--

"Awhile."

"Weeks? Months? Mark you can't keep this up.You've wastd all your money! Come back home! Start practicing again! Beth isn't coming back, but you could find someone else. No one back there knows what you've been doing out here. Just come back and start over!"

"I'm not leaving my flock."

Up until this point Sylvia had been angry but tolerant. When the last word left his mouth she went into a rampage. She turned on her heels and walked out the front door. She walked across the street and up to the door of what appeared to once have been a saloon. She knocked. She kicked the door. She walked to a window and swung her change purse into it, breaking the glass. She hit it a few more times until the window was completely open and she stuck her head in.

"Hello? Anyone here? My dillusional brother wants you to find Jesus! As soon as you become a Christian I can go home!"

Silence. 

Then she walked over to the post office; also boarded up. She wiped the window with her glove and peered in. She turned to look at me, swung back the change purse, and proceeded to break the glass. She continued down the road until she'd broken 7 windows. No one responded. No one flooded the streets to take down the vandal. She was right. 

How had I missed that? Why did God send me to an abandoned town? I sank to my knees and watched dust roll around in the wind. My sister started walking back to me. She was sweaty and covered in dirt. She walked past me and into the house. She left the door open and I heard her lightly tapping on the stairs. 

I looked over at the wagons. The men were dirty but seemed honest. They'd had plenty of time to abandon my sister here but they were setting up camp for the night. One man was sitting on the wagon cleaning his fingernails. The other two were working on unloading the equipment. 

I walked over to the men. They were further away than I'd figured and by the time I reached them all three men were standing, arms folded, waiting on me. 

"Hi, I want to offer a room in my home for you. It was a boarding house so you can have your own space. There's plenty of water. I don't have a lot of food, but you are welcome to use the kitchen for your own meals."

"Why do you want to let us in there? Do we look like the kind of man you want sleeping in the same house as your sister?"

I hadn't thought of that. "I don't see why that should be a problem. You can have a bed if you want. Or you can sleep on the ground. I just wanted to offer the bed to you"

Realizing I wasn't getting anywhere, I nodded my head and turned away. I walked back to the house but just as I reached the first building of town, one of the men yelled out, "Can we shower?"

"Yeah. Please do."

"Ok, We'll be right in."

Day 19: List 20 things that annoy you and expand on one

Again with the negativity! How about I write 10 things that annoy me, 10 things that make life worth living, and expand upon one of those. 

Things that annoy me:

1. Being trapped on the bottom deck of a ferry behind a wall of stupid bicyclists. I was a bicyclist, but I wasn't stupid.

2. People who take children to a restaurant and let their kids scream.

3. People who don't follow basic transportation rules (stay left, don't veer into traffic, etc, etc)

4. People who get barfy drunk in public. 

5. Shitting on other people to make yourself feel better.

6. Yelling. I hate it, actually.

7. Disrespecting the position of the president. You don't have to like him, but I can't stand when people say anyone should die. He is a human. 

8. People who talk while the teacher is talking. My RAS is low, and I am easily distracted.

9. Annoyed is a mild term, but I am [insert gambit of feelings] when I hear of a woman giving birth on someone else's terms. 

10. half assed or no assed parents. The next generation deserves better.

Things that make life worth living:

1. Sex. And yea, it's number 1 for a reason.

2. The moment you know you've made an impact on someone's life

3. The few months in a toddler's life when their vocabulary explodes. 

4. Making a friend, and knowing that person will stick around for a decade or two.

5. When a baby falls asleep in your arms

6. Encouraging someone to do what they want (in my case, pursuing higher education or choosing their own birth plan)

7. Reflecting on good times with people who've transitioned, and feeling the deep mourn for those loved ones. 

8. Proving people wrong. ;)

9. Cuddling

10. Laughing. 

I would say 1 and 10 are most important. However, to keep things appropriate for my mother who now reads my blog (hey mom!) I'll talk about laughing. My fiance gets so annoyed by giggling girls. It's kind of understandable, but having been a giggling girl once (and sometimes still) I have to say that he is simply missing out. One of my favorite feelings in the world is laughing until you cry. And maybe it's not the actual laughing that is so vital, but I think feeling comfortable enough with the people around you to laugh that hard is the best part. Most recently I was taking a pole class with my friend (since she took such sweet care of Agent Vidal, we'll call her The Caretaker). The caretaker and I were in 6' heels and she did a Peter Pan spin, went to land and slipped. She, with her superior upper body strength caught herself and landed, gracefully for the situation, on her knees. I laughed so hard I had to leave class. 

Also, side note: this blog makes me happy. I don't really get to know who any of you are unless you comment, but its really nice to be able to write to such a vast and anonymous audience. I am thankful for you.

Thanks for reading!

Day 18: Write about environmentalism

This... isn't random. 

I just listened to a radio show about a man who's published a new book about the morality of fossil fuels. When I listened to his explanation, I was taken back to the traditional variance in all debates. The basis of all differences in our perception of the world around us is whether we think we are animals. So I'm going to write about both.

1. If we are animals, the environment is our peer. Ultimately the environment is our steward. We are subject to it's availability. We are subject to its actions. The catalyst of the actions is "important" but not in the effect of what is happening over why it's happening. So, basically whether God is doing these things, if Universal intelligence, or if, my least favorite option, chaos, is to blame, it doesn't matter. We are intellectual creatures, like dolphins or octopi, or pigs. We have relationships and we build things. We created a heirachy of intellectual function for goodness sake! We are the pinnacle of macro-organisms! (that was sarcasm) If we are animals then we are like the tiny boats we build out on stormy seas: we can only change our circumstances on a minute level. 

2. If we dominate animals, the environment is a tool. Ultimately we are the steward over a sickly and deteriorating globe. It is subject to our actions. We are the catalyst. In this instance, the catalyst may be the same forces acting on our "nature", but it's still the same: it doesn't matter. We are intellectual creatures and intellect is paramount. Intellect can overcome our action. In this view the world is falling apart and in need of saving. From this perspective it makes sense that we should use fossil fuels to take the contaminants out of the soil.

Problems:

If our actions come from our nature, and our intellect comes from our nature then our actions should implicate our intellect and in true biological form, provide sustainability for off-spring.

Earth is a closed system. It is like a glass filled with water. Assuming volume can't change, and we aren't rapidly seaping atmosphere into the vast universe, taking a toxin out of one form simply means that it takes a new form; ie, if you take toxic materials out of the soil, you put them in the air. If take toxins from water or air and put it in barrels in the ground, you are simply changing their state. We are playing chess against the computer. There's only so many times you can move into and out of the corner before you just give up and let the computer have you. 

Wasn't it Einstein who said “Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”...that wasn't a question. Yes, it was. How are we to know that ants aren't geniuses at volume movement, or that dolphins were the pinnacle of evolution, but then decided it wasn't worth all the hype? 

I realize that we are really a mix of options 1 and 2. I know this, but I still don't think it gives us the authority to do stupid things. That is my final complaint: Humans have specialty. I promise you that an electrician could school me on how to install wiring into a house, but all it takes is one news article or one book and suddenly Joe Shmoe is an expert and he thinks the electrician is a complete fool. Why can't we have experts? Why can't we have specialists anymore? 

In typical fashion, a little information is a scary thing.

 

Day 17: write about your dreams

I've always thought that dreams were significant. When I was a kid I dreamed all sorts of bizarre things. I dreamed I died so many times. I dreamed I felt myself die; I dreamed I had already died and what I did later. I dreamed I couldn't die. I have dreamed probably a hundred times that I was going to drown but I realized I could breath underwater.

As time goes on my dreams seem to get more and more mundane. 

That is until this past year. 

My grandmother died a year ago. From the day she died until 2 months later I had 4-5 dreams a week with her in them. The weird thing is that for a few of those dreams, they were continuations of dreams my little sister was having. She was wearing the same thing and everything. 

I dreamed that I was in her kitchen and she said I had to go bc I would be late for work. I was late for work. I dreamed she cooked food. I dreamed she had comfy socks. I often wonder if I've glanced into "her heaven". I hope so.

Day 16: He turned the key in the lock and opened the door. To his horror, he saw...

He turned the key in the lock and opened the door. To his horror, he saw himself sitting on the couch drinking a beer. The door swung from momentum, and thunked against the foyer wall. The him on the couch took a swig and placed the beer on a coaster on the coffee table. He sighed and said, "This is something we've been needing to talk about for a while now." The him who opened the door half dropped his grocery bags. He walked in and sat on the vintage arm chair. The him on the couch looked like a child about to confess to stealing cookies from the cookie jar. Rubbing his hands together, he hesitantly began with, "I don't know how to tell you this but you have been in a coma for 5 years. This is all a dream." The him in the arm chair began to pale.

"I jest, I jest." He offered. "This is a dream, but you aren't in a coma. It just the regular kind. Plenty of people have out of body experiences (ish) in their sleep; they see themselves with their greatest desires, or they see themselves in danger. I don't know how normal it is to dream about grocery shopping, but at least I am normal."

The him on the chair relaxed. He opened his mouth to say something like, "Oh man, you had me on that one!" But soon realized he didn't have a mouth.

"Curious right? Why don't you have a mouth? This is your dream. Somewhere in there you have all the answers. Maybe you're just meant to listen through all this. Yep, there've been other times. And you don't seem to remember me, but I definitely remember you; my mute twin. I get to live in this dank house a few times a month, and I get to interact with you. I think this is the first time you have realized you don't have a mouth. The rules state I'm not allowed to tell you anything you don't come to on your own first.  Don't try to move your jaw. Last time you got pissed and tried to rip it open. I don't think it's worth it. You're just along for the ride. Let's talk about your wife. We haven't talked about her yet. Yeah, you don't really remember conversations from before."

The him on the chair glanced down at his hand and saw a wedding band. He didn't remember being married. He definitely wasn't married.

"Yes. You are. Her name is Debra."

The name made his ears ring. Like when you have been in the dark forever, and you are exposed to direct sunlight. The sound of your eyes adjusting and your skin contracting, like your whole being is clinching down on itself; like the only thing to do is ball up on the ground and wait for your body to catch up; like the opposite of brain freeze. 

When the pain stopped, the room came back into focus slowly. He had tears in his eyes: not emotional tears, but survival tears: the tears that come when you are concentrating with your eyes squinched shut. He looked to the him on the couch. He was lighting a cigarette, and offered one to him. Asshole. What was he going to smoke it out of? His ears?

"You could try your nose. Might hurt though. I don't know. So, Debra, breathe deep buddy. You'll be fine. Debra is your wife. She's the one who decorated this monstrosity. Mother of your children? You're business partner? Your financial guru? Anyway, she was here. She said she'd be back later. Judging by  your little show just now I don't know that it's a good idea for you to be her when she gets back."

Hyperventalating through your nose is difficult. His lungs wanted to exert themselves, but his nostrils regulated too well. He didn't know he was married, but the name made him so violently upset that it paralyzed him (at least his dream body).  

Part I.

 

Day 15: Use the phrase "Growing like a weed"

I stepped through the fence of fire, and found the witches there

I craned my neck along the pyre, and saw the little's hair.

I two stepped stairs steep to summit, but finally  I ARRIVE!

Just to see the blanket plummet, and the worst I could surmise.

The little not so little now, was growing like a weed

The little swaddled moments ago, wow, with such great speed

Has no more ribbons in her hair, no goofiness to lose

She has burdens broad to bear, where once she stood aloof.

My heart begins to ache for her, as the witch calls out my name

She says my job is to lure, her out--the time we've left's no game

"Because all young girls long to live bigger than they are 

But they need a heart to give, with out it they won't go far"

I wondered where I might start, and how to give her wings

the little grabbed my juicy heart, and gave it one tight squeeze.

I thought about what I would do, If I went at it again

I would go and act and view, as much as I possibly can.

I wouldn't let fear hold me back, or shame glue me down

My heart would love, throb and thwack, I'd never touch the ground

So what could I give the little that I couldn't give myself?

I'd give every ounce of courage and support I could. 

Nothing is something if you compare yourself to that brood.

 

Something is something if it matters to you

but nothing is nothing if its something you can't do.

And sometimes cant's and dont-want-to's aren't that far apart

and in moments like that when the panic sets in, I'd say listen to your heart.

'Success is counted sweetest by those who ne'er succeed'*

but success is measured in your own heart's content, no one else's- indeed.

* single line from Emily Dickenson's "Success is counted sweetest"

  

Day 14: 10 reasons to break off an engagement

(It's random I promise)

1. You expect your betrothed to change.

    A ring will make her happy. The yes will fill his heart. As with most gifts in life, we often lose focus on those things and their significance as time goes on. The ring will not make her more submissive. The yes wont remove all need for him to hear WHY you said yes. You should expect the bad to stay bad, and to good to stay good. If you find yourself engaged to someone because you thought the commitment would change behavior, its probably a good sign to let them go.

2. Your betrothed DOES change.

     I recently talked to a girl who's husband was completely normal until the wedding, and then he became increasingly possessive. It got to the point that he called her 15 times in one day bc she was in a 3 hour lab. Ain't no body got time for that. Betrothed means promised, but it doesn't mean enslaved. If you see behaviors that are frightening or vastly different, try to talk it out, but if its bad, get out. 

3. Cheating.

    My knee jerk reaction is that cheating is never ok. However, as an adult I can see if a person is neglected for months or years, and someone else comes along and gives them the affection they want, it makes sense that a human would migrate to what they want. That being said, you aren't married. Most likely kids aren't in the picture yet. The stresses of life are relatively low for you. If you aren't providing the love and support that he/she needs now, then it will only be more difficult when you have a family or buy a house, or changing jobs, or losing jobs, or any plethora of life circumstances. That being said, if your needs aren't being met, give the other person the opportunity to change. Break it off before you cheat.

4-10. Follow your gut

    Frankly, this prompt is annoying to me. I just got engaged, and I'd rather not focus on reasons to break it off, but for the sake of keeping it random, I wrote. Lastly, and this is my greatest weakness, follow your gut. If it doesn't feel right, don't do it. 

    Everyone I've ever talked to about divorce said that they had reservations during their engagement. I don't mean to be negative, but it seems like sometimes marriage means just not leaving. Hopefully your marriage will be filled with more; like love and happiness and consult and companionship. We all dream that our marriage will be the first ship to exclusively sail on fair weathered seas, but I think at somepoint you should consider what life would be like if you had to live every day with your significant other at their worst. And once your mouth is filled with acid and you could shoot darts with your eyes, consider what it would be like for your mate if they had to live every day with you at your worst. Statistically, its not likely that those scenarios would be average, but being with someone during sickness doesn't mean cleaning up barf and making chicken soup. Sometimes it means the mood swings that accompany weaning off of prescription strength pain killers, or the emotional roller coaster and pains of pregnancy and birth. 

     My worst is not caring. My brain has this auto prioritizing feature. My emotions, and the emotions of the ones I care about are usually the first or second thing to fall aside. So, I think about what life would be like for my significant other if I completely ignored his feelings for years. He's a pretty emotional guy. He's a talker and a sharer (yes, a dream by most women's standards). I am not. At best I can listen. I rarely make it above comprehension. If pushed I can sympathize, and maybe even emote a little myself, but ultimately, its just not in my nature. By suggesting that you consider living with your significant other at their worst, I am immediately reminded of what that would mean if I was specifically speaking to him. What a reminder! 

     

Day 13: What does the phrase, "A string of laughter" make you think of?

Often times my dreams look like the Harry Potter movies. 

When I think of a string of laughter I think of a 1920's laundry line; strung up high in a New York apartment building. 

I think of a chubby sweaty woman jerking thick cotton rope along a pulley system and a mix pot of lips and laughter coming out of a deep wooden basket and out on the line. I imagine thick red lips, gapped front teeth and a loud husky laugh. I imagine thin lips and a moustache with a high pitched soft chuckle. I imagine wide mouths with gasping laughter, half smiles and giggles. The line is hung amongst underwear and petticoats, but the laughing is constant. I wonder who would be willing to give up their laugh for a good laundering? I wonder if an occasional washing keeps the laugh fresh. Once the laughs are all out on the line the rope makes an abrupt stop, and the laughs begin to swing which creates a wave of laughs; the laughs and their echoes travel from one apartment wall to another. The wind picks up and the laughs become more like wind chimes, the laughter settles into a gentle lull, more than a roaring chaos. When the wind hits a group of smiles, the laugh picks up. Clean clothes drip on the smiles , and white sheets stick to some of the mouths; that makes them laugh harder. 

At the end of the day the chubby woman comes back to the window, sweatier than before, and begins jerking on the pulley system again, and the smiles start rolling back in. The movement excites them and the laughter picks back up to a ruckus. One by one the plump laughs fall into a clean basket. One of the evil laughs tries to bite her hand as she removes the clothes pin. She smacks it into the basket, and continues. She arrives to the last smile and pauses to look at it with great affection. She holds it with caution and her eyes light up. She opens her mouth and puts the smile on like dentures, and laughs until she has to brace herself on the window sil.l    

Day 12: a side note

Alright, so this is my 12th entry? in about twice as many days. 

Are you familiar with the Dr. Suess quote, "A person is a person, no matter how small."? Lately the thing that comes to mind is, "Progress is progress, no matter how small."

The side note:

On Sunday I got engaged. I really wanted to be engaged. We've been together for 7.5 years. We've seen a lot of each other. I wanted it badly. And in true, cringe-worthy fashion: He didn't. I dropped out of Cal Poly in 2011. I was denied residency, and it was going to cost me another 53K to finish a master's that MIGHT get me 40k/year. About 8 months later I realized I wanted to get married. I realized I wasn't going any where. I didn't want to be with anyone else. I realized that what we had was special; he was always up for an adventure. We traveled so well together. But he didn't want it. The topic usually sent him into a nervous frenzy that more than once ended up in a knock down drag out argument. I did the harsh thing of setting a deadline. We would pass the timeline. I would resent him for missing a deadline he knew nothing about. I could blame him for a lot, but often times my frustration came from things he had no idea were happening. 

I set the last deadline by accident. We were fighting and I threw it at him. I said, "Are you planning to propose to me in the next 6 weeks?!" And he said maybe. Maybe is a toxic word because it gives more hope to the hopeful, and more doubt to the doubting. I decided that this was it. So I marked the date. This time I told him about it. Did he make the deadline? No. But this time, he knew the clock was ticking.

 This was my basic premise:"If you want to marry me, let's do it. If you don't, let me find someone who will give me what I want, because I deserve that happiness, and to have a family."

The weekend before the deadline, he found out that some loved ones, very close to him, were divorcing. At that point, I rescinded the deadline. He was hurting. I didn't do it in some pathetic way. I didn't shame it. I simply said, "This is bigger. Let's deal with this upset, but keep our own priorities in line." That was really hard. It was hard because his faith in marriage was in those two people. Was it immature and irrational? yes, but when its the only thing you've ever seen as a successful relationship, it's difficult to separate the two ideas. 

So, a few weeks later I told him that it was still important to me. He said he knew, and that he was working on it. He seemed serious so I decided to drop it. I didn't really think about it.The quarter started, classes got hectic, and I let it go. 

Our friends, previous companions of the infamous Vidal, invited us camping near Yosemite. I spent the entire weekend trying to convince them to go to Yosemite, just for a drive through view. I finally "convinced" them (they were totally in in it the whole time), and we went to the park. To our surprise there was a fire in the Valley, so we went up to Olmsted point. We'd been there the first summer we dated, then the second, third, and fifth year we dated. I'll never forget the first time I saw it. I actually gasped. Every time I see it I feel like I'm losing my breath. I got out of the car and walked over to the ledge, looking out over the granite landscape. He came up behind me. He was shaking! I told him it wasn't cold, and to stop shaking. He said, "We've been on so many adventures together.Will you promise to go on adventures with me for the rest of our lives?" At this point I was confused. I kind of nodded like, "sure..." But then he got on one knee with a ring. I believe I asked he was serious, and then I said yes before he finished the question. 

So, I have no idea what the plan is. Brian has requested a minimum of 7 days of engagement bliss. But,  I know that this is pretty much perfect. I'm very excited to start navigating the spiritual aspect of marriage, and want to prepare to be the best Wife I can be. If you know of any texts that could be helpful, let me know!

Thanks for divulging me. I'll keep it to creative writing for a while. :)

Day 11: What do you keep in your wallet/purse

The vessel has changed many times over the years, but the materials remain the same. 

My purse is yellow. It is leather, and has one large flap. The button to close it is a twisty button. In the outer pouch is 2 types of lip...stuff? I don't think Burt's bees constitutes the title of "lipstick" but, its tinted. Then I have a set of Brian's keys, and a pair of nail clippers-- you can do a lot with nail clippers. 

Finally, and my secret (I know you might anticipate a flask of vodka or a single hitter pipe), I have a tiny vial of advil. 

In the big flap I have 3 bart cards, a red wallet with mostly cards that I don't need; like 4 year old insurance cards, and movie membership cards that don't have any theaters within 200 miles. I have a fireman's badge sticker, a Hamsa Chai necklace made by a halocaust survivor, 1.5 pairs of earrings, random benefit cards like cvs cards, that I never use, my phone, and tiny crumbs/pebbles that the kids I nanny believe to be the most precious gem in the world. 

Day 10: What are your thoughts on cooking?

Incase you haven't noticed, one of my weaknesses is character development. I kind of delve right in. Or, even worse I just tell you the events. Part of me thinks that its just my reaction to a prompt I may not be in LURVE with, but the other part of me thinks that if the goal is to develop in creative writing, I shouldn't be lazy.

So, for this prompt I get to give my opinion; something I am incredibly, offensively, good at doing. 

When I was a kid, cooking was this elite privilege. My mom or Nana would go into the kitchen, work quietly and deliberately for hours, and then out came a beautiful masterpiece that the average Joe could never hope to create. 

When my mom left we almost exclusively ate at Nana's house. She was neurotic (about many things) about her kitchen. For example, these were some of her instructions:

"1. Go in the kitchen

2. Wash your hands

3. Get a bowl

4. find the flour

5. Find the eggs

6. Find some oil

7. Find a measuring cup"

The point is that she prefaced the actual recipe with about 12 steps that she wanted done exactly as she stated. If she came in the kitchen and the oil was out but not the eggs, it was a wash. It was weird. I guess she was attempting to instill in me a sense of reverence for what I was doing, or maybe she was trying to make me as neurotic as she was about it... but in anycase, I realized early on that it was Nana's house, and Nana's kitchen. 

My dad on the other hand was probably too lax. I remember being 10-11 years old and attempting to make chicken. I totally almost caught the house on fire. There's also the issue that I was alone in the house at that age. That being said, I remember the chicken being edible. I learned a few things through high school, I mastered most breakfast food (except bacon) and was ok with most starches (pasta, baked potatoes, etc). 

I moved to California when I was 22, from living in a dorm for 4 years. I was chomping at the bit to get culinarily creative. Coincidentally we moved in with a chef. I just know that we ate roasted root vegetables at least 4 times a week until we moved, about 6 months later. One perk is that he taught us you can grill pizzas. That's still one of my favorites. 

About a year later we moved into our own place (my own kitchen!?!) and I started working for a pretty affluent, health-conscious family. They were willing to put absolutely disgusting things into their bodies for health's sake. My goal at that point was to create food they would deem healthy, but also make it palatable. My first development was this mexican chicken 'noodle' soup. It was good, but my boyfriend doesn't consider soup food... so then I learned about "Gluuu-ten" (the kids that I currently nanny call it that and it is insanely adorable). I learned how to pretty much make anything without bread/pasta/potatoes. My favorite out of those things is zucchini lasagna. I can also make some bomb ass gluten free cupcakes using coconut flour. Cooking for me has become a comfort. I'm in school where I'm pretty much constantly feeling insufficient. It's hard. I wont even fake it! 

Cooking is like art to me. It is more than sustenance, it is an experience. That is something my mom and my grandmother definitely instilled in me; eating good food is an experience. You shouldn't feel like a pig at the trough. You should prepare food delicious enough to savor, to make you pause for a moment and be reminded that we more than our ancestors scavaging for food. We are eating art. We are creating art. I would encourage you to put yourself out there and try something crazy. Try something new! 

In 5 years I've thrown away 2 dishes. And one of them was the most expensive thing I've ever made. Keep it simple, and just keep trying. 

Day 9: You`re in a room full of people and you`re the only blind person there. Describe the room and the people in your mind.

Who's got 2 thumbs but no internet at home!? This girl!

Sorry for falling off the wagon.

That being said, the new house is amazing. 

Anywho:

The couch has ribbed fabric. It's really soft. I like the way it feels on my legs. I have one arm resting on the arm rest and my fingers are fiddling with the texture. I'm trying to not look nervous, but I'm at the mercy of Andrew, my friend, who kind of settled me on the couch and went to the bathroom. My folded cane is in my right fist. I let my head fall onto the back of the couch. The cushioning is aged, but overall I'd buy it. Right now I might prefer to be deaf. The music is really slow, but the base is turned up and it feels like I'm a rock on the coast being smashed by waves of bad sounds, or bad feelings. My friend is back and sits next to me on the couch. He keeps telling me how high he is. I hate dub step, but this house is the only place around to get good weed. Maybe that's why the couch feels so good. I pop the cane into its straightened position and stand up. I've been here 6 or 7 times, and I'm pretty sure I can make it to the downstairs half bath.

I didn't take into account the people. There's only 8 people here, but people don't pay much attention to where I am until I'm poking them with my cane. And then they are incredbibly apologetic.... though if they would speak to me, I wouldn't have to poke them. Having a dog is way more effective. People want to pet the dog. People want to talk about how smart the dog is. The dog is a conversation catalyst. I didn't bring him because the first time there was a strobe light and it freaked him out. 

Lee is here. She is fantastic. She plays volleyball and smells like dirt. Maybe dirt wasn't what I meant, but she smells earthy; not made up, not fake. I ran into her (poked her) on the way to the bathroom. We are both pre-med so we have pretty much the same schedule. I like her because she is such a deviation from the norm. She likes Jump Little Children and always sings in open mic nights; changing top 40's hits into jazzy moaning. I'm pretty sure she likes me. 

Trevor is my dealer, and the guy who lives here. I hear him say my name. He's in the kitchen when I walk back through to the living room and I hear wet bristly sounds. I walk over to the sink and he tells me to come with him. We go outside on the porch and he tells me he's painting the sunset. We got to his house after 9 pm, so I don't know what he's using as a reference, but he asks me what I think. He's also high, so I don't know if I should remind him I can't see, or if I should play along, or if I should laugh like he's made a joke. I wait for a moment, and he pats my shoulder and says, "yeah, me too buddy."

The best thing about hanging out with people that smoke pot is that you never hear retching. I hate frat parties or typical house parties where people drink too much and end up lying in their own vomit for hours. The sound of vomit hitting the concrete from one story up is haunting. The stories you hear of mistakes made while blackout drunk aren't much better. Our 'parties' are just playing video games, painting, and talking. New people are always passing through. It feels more intellectual. I imagine that in 15 years or so we'll be doing the same thing but drinking wine. My parents like wine. I don't. I don't like alcohol. 

I walk back inside to the couch, and sit on the other end. Someone is sitting next to me that I don't know, and on the furthest end, where was sitting earlier, is Lee. She sighs loudly and asks the person between us if she's met me. The girl moves around in her seat and then I hear a raspy voice introduce herself. I stick my hand out to shake her hand. After a few seconds she puts her hand in mine and gives me a little jerk. She definitely isn't high. She starts asking me questions a mile a minute. After what feels like an eternity, a guy asks her if she wants to play scrabble. She accepts, and then dismisses herself. 

Andrew comes up and asks if I'm ready to leave. I stand up and pop out my cane, and walk towards the door. I poked 3 people along the way. 

Day 8: Write for 10 minutes beginning with "I used to think..."

I used to think that beards were gross

but now I just know better

Before I wouldn't get too close

and my beliefs were a fetter

I like burly beastly bearded men

but this is something new

Oh, imagine what could have been!

if I'd staged a face hair coup.

I like them below an old baseball hat

or above flannel plaid

a 5 0'clock shadow or a nice one big and fat

no facial hair is bad.

I rescind.

 

Day 7: reader prompt: write about a mood that elicits an emotional response from your reader

I'm not good with emotions in the real world... so I don't imagine this will go much smoother. 

He fumbles a little

eyes darting between me and the blankets

The smile on his lips 

the crease in his eyebrows 

don't add up

stands up

sits down

turns to the side

reaches out

pulls back

He laughs.

I pull the blankets back

two black gems shine 

in the moonlight

new skin with eyebrows dancing

he reaches out

I rest the blankets in his arms.

upright

not too far back

yaaaaawwwnnnn

His face breaks to a smile

one hand finds a foot

a tiny hand reaches out

to his finger

afraid,

but he laughs

ok. So I tried poetry format. Now I will try the same experience in block form. I think I get too confined in what a 'poem' should look like.

I looked down at two black eyes, barely exposed in the late evening's cold. Top 40's music plays just a hair too loud, and I bounce my knee to the beat. I make the occasional nod to a parent to say, "Hey! He's still breathing over here! I think this counts as a success!" People come by to pat a leg, or 'fix' him the only way that they know how. He rubs his hands together in a menacingly way, and randomly gives a half-smile that I assume is an indication pooping, thinking about pooping, or a primer to crying. I play with his fingers, and fiddle with the blanket to make sure his legs are covered. 

I look over at my boyfriend. We'd just said yesterday that he'd never held a newborn before. He is looking at the baby, and then asks if he can try. I repeat to him what was said to me when he ended up in my arms, "He likes to sit up. Don't lay him back." Brian's demeanor changes. He never loses his smile, but he immediately seems unsure. He stands up, sits down, changes positions, holds out his hands, pulls them back, and then just laughs. I don't know why, but I expected that sometime in the 6 seconds all of that took that he would change his mind. But finally, I come back to reality, and lean over to deliver the baby to him. He holds out his arms, instinctively correct. The baby settles right in and does what most babies do when they see the beard, and just stare at it in wonder. The baby's gestures go from hand rubbing to bar fight. His arms are reaching as if to say, "Let me up! Let me at 'em!" Brian rearranges, again, without a glitch, and puts his finger out for the baby to grab. 

I don't hold babies often. I work with older kids. I've felt the emotions and flood of bonding brain chemicals while feeding a bottle to a baby, but in one moment Brian was holding a baby, and in the next he was interacting with the baby. They locked finger in hand for a long while. The smile was glued on Brian's face.

This wasn't a moment of realizing he would be a good father. I've known this for awhile. It was amazing to watch someone unaccustomed to infants, become instantly comfortable.  

Day 6: Write a letter to 10 year old you

Dear Sam,

     Um, hi. I barely remember you. I don't remember much. I remember it was around this age that you learned what manipulation was. I'm sorry it happened to you, but I think you should consider fighting evil with good, instead of more evil. Eventually you'll come to this decision without my telling you this, but it would save you a lot of heartache and time to just treat people kindly. Also, that girl who told your class you bathed with your brother is in prison... like... for real. So, even if you do have to be an evil bitch, just remember that the mean people really have it rough at home. I know you don't have many friends now. I also know why you don't have many friends. I want you to know that you will overcome those things. You were only afraid because you thought you were different. You aren't. Once you open your heart to people around you, you will see that they all have the same problems, but they aren't parading around as the product of two people who hate each other... so in that sense they have a leg up. I'm so proud that you never victimized yourself, but I'm sorry that you were made to feel defective. For the record, you may be a little emotionally dry later, but I'd say you turn out ok. 

When she tries to make you cry; when she tries to make you change your mind, don't listen. You are where you belong. You are so, so loved. And maybe she wont always be terrible, but for right now she isn't what you need. Frankly, don't expect that to change for another 10-20 years... if ever. 

Also, your dad is going to marry an absolute psychopath. Don't talk to her about menstruation, or books, or pain. She is toxic. She terrified me for so long on those topics that I was afraid of them. She was wrong. Matter of fact, don't eat anything she cooks, and avoid contact. Try to live with Nana. 

Nana is only going to get more annoying. She's going to let her fears of what you could become envelope her in paranoia. Be patient. She is coming from a good place. She will protect you from things you can't even imagine. She will be your greatest defense. Try not to yell. Try to write her letters more. People will always tell you that you get your enjoyment of writing from Larry... but it was her. I promise. 

Reading is a lot more fun than they make it out to be. And in a few years you are going to make your first 'C'. Don't cry. Daddy doesn't care as much as you think he does. Actually, by now you have a baby sister. You will come to find that Daddy is way more laid back than you thought. As complicated and awkward as he can be with you sometimes, it will be 10x's worse for her. She's just a baby now but she'll be able to handle him better than you; but you'll always have Nana figured out.

If I could ask you to do one thing, I would ask you to stop caring so much. Don't look at clothes sizes before you look at what looks nice. Don't assume that family comes first. Don't worry yourself with what your peers think of you. If you like hiking, hike more. If you want to ride a bike, ride more. Be more social. Join more groups. Do more. See more. You can, and you should. 

One day you're gonna wake up, and you're going to have the most pressing drive you've ever felt. I imagine it's what birds feel when they realize it's time to migrate. You will want to escape. It's the greatest decision you'll ever make. Don't be afraid to go sooner. Don't be afraid to be gone longer. The people that matter understand. The people that don't matter... don't matter. 

Please be gentle with yourself. Like they are so eager to tell you anyway: you're damaged goods. But you're scarring over nicely. Keep up the good work. Kiss more boys. Try to break the rules every once and a while, and for the love of all things holy stop letting Nana dress you. 

-Love

you.