Day 34: Something you'd like to say to an ex:

I'm getting married. May as well address both of the ones that matter:

1. Dear Sir,

          I'm sorry I was mean to you for so long. I had to. I realized during a little break, that being with you meant that I would be exactly what all the people who I didn't want to be like, expected me to be. It wasn't you. I mean, well, it was you. It was what we were together. We were so boring. I think you've moved on. I saw you a few years ago and it made me lose my breath. Not because I immediately wanted to let go of the hand holding mine, but because I was taken back to when I would have done it. You were my first kiss. I'm not certain you ever knew that. I enjoy being your facebook friend. I enjoy seeing your life. I'm proud of what you've become. I hope you don't hate me. I think it was for the best for both of us. I dream about you. Never in creepy ways. I think my brain gets confused about who you are. You represent many different people when I dream about you. Sometimes I do wonder what would have happened, but then I recall a conversation we had after I'd moved to California. I said that life was an adventure. You said that you could adventure at home. That's when I knew I'd made the right decision. Thanks for being that really awkward relationship that we all must have.

2. Dear Sir,

         You made my freshman year of college like a fucking 80's montage. I actually walked around campus at 2am crying with snot running down my nose. The end of us was a fizzle. And that was probably worse than if we'd blown to bits. I mean... you haven't done much with your life; riding the coat tails of you wife... but that's cool. I guess we all have to find our anchor. I sound mad, but I'm not. I'm thankful for The Fountainhead. I'm thankful for the notion that I could leave home. I did. When I met my fiance I was still in love with you. I was still in love with you for about 5 months. I remember walking around the vineyard in the hiking boots I'd bought in a manic phase to physically catch you... and I was knocking the baby stems off the bottom of the vines and I realized I'd done all the things you hadn't. I'd acheived more than I could have with you. And I learned to love who I was with, because I realized the beautiful part of him is that he will always want to go more; do more. Thanks for breaking my heart, the reassembled bits work pretty damn well.

Day 33: 5 ways to win your heart

1. Baby any thing. You know those click bait things on facebook? Yeah. I'm that sucker.

2. Military service folk. They deserve all the accolade we can bestow upon them. I don't care if Chris Kyle told people in his book that he was Santa Claus. He is an American hero. Any person who leaves their family for any amount of time to go over seas and interact with potentially violent people, is a hero.

3. Human capacity for growth, change, and wellness. We are souls. We have bodies. We are much more in control than most cultures would have us believe. You are the captain of your ship. The minute you lose that concept, the ship is lost.

4. Intelligence/rebellion. There's nothing more attractive than a person at a party who smiles and says, "Where did you hear that?"

5. Travel. 30 minutes or 3000 miles. I'll take it all. 

Day 29: The countdown

So, we are in the home stretch. 

In 3 months I'm getting married. We have been reading a book. We are looking into an engaged encounter. All the hard details are finished. Progress is great! 

I think my experience is unique in the sense that 

1. I do not have a mother figure to fawn over my every decision (both a benefit and drawback)

2. My wedding is not in this country (weeding out a lot of people that may have come to the wedding otherwise)

3. I am not doing any crafts, I am not decorating, I am not gluing, stapling, painting, licking, stuffing, cooking, fretting, or stressing. (Huge benefit)

4. I don't care about a lot of things that I should, apparently, care about. I don't care about colors or designs or ultimately who shows up. I want to wear a dress, get married, and dance. 

Here are some unique things that have popped up:

1. My father. My dad has been the most difficult part of preparing for this wedding. He's coming then he's not coming. He wont get a passport. He has been incredibly negative about who will come and who wont. He laughs when I talk about family coming like it will never happen. He wouldn't even look at the registry ( he asked what I wanted for Christmas and I said there were cheap things on the registry). My soon to be MIL some how coerced him into coming. I need to write her a thank you letter. While his presence will make my wedding complete....I'm still frustrated that it took all that effort to get him to come. I'm his oldest daughter. And all he has to do is show up.

2. People (not me) are really concerned with colors. I have no idea what "my colors" are. I thought if you got married under a gazebo it would be white. The chairs are white. I assume I'll have a bouquet of some sort.... but if I'm not having a bridal party... I don't understand why it's important. 

3. Past tense Sam was really smart. I'm so glad we are doing it in Mexico... I think I would have gone insane if we'd gotten married in South Carolina or in California. It would have taken a lot of work.

Day 32: Talk about something you lost

1. My LA gear light up shoe

   I was an only child for a long time. And even then, I've never lived in the same house as my little sister. This doesn't make her any less my sister, but the behavior I'm about to talk about depends heavily on my childhood experience.

   You might think my parents did a fantastic job, or you might think they were ludicrous, but as I child I truly thought I could do anything. I was convinced that if I tried hard enough that I could fly. I also thought my mother was from a long line of witches. She and her sisters had a very unique mysticism about them... it was beautiful and captivating, and something that I assumed would just start up one day, like puberty. 

    So, I was probably in kindergarten and light up shoes were the shit. I begged for a pair. Granted, being an only child, I didn't beg long, but I really wanted a pair. So my mom got me a pair. They were white with, what I'm remembering as, glittery shoe laces. The heel, when you stepped, would flash. I don't remember the color. I wore them religiously. I wore them constantly. I remember trying to sleep in them. 

     I lost one shoe. I kept the other shoe for many years after I could have possibly shoved my foot into them, but it never returned. 

     I assumed for a long time that it was some type of portal to magical rune that would allow me to join the sisterhood that my mother and her sisters (aunts, grandmothers for all I know). Yes. It was a vivid imagination. Yes. I did jump off of my monkey bars only to be shocked when I sprained my ankle instead of taking flight over the neighborhood.

     The resolution: My dad remarried after he divorced my mom. My dad, much like a certain someone else I've come to love, will exercise his control over his environment (when he feels like he doesn't have any control at all) by cleaning. When my dad was remarried he threw things away all the time. He was stressed by clutter. So he would throw away toys, clothes, and actual trash every weekend. The problem with this behavior was more evident with his second wife because they were even more poor with 5 kids in a 2 bedroom house; so we started running out of clothes, and "heirlooms", that were obviously cheap dollar store items went missing. 

      For the record, my adult brain says that my dad threw away the shoe accidentally; without it's pair. Not that he would hesitate to throw away a new pair of shoes left in the wrong place, but that the main error was that he left one behind.

       A small smidgeon of me still wonders if it's in the back of the closet, whirring with magic. Like I could touch it, and be taken to a place where I would find all the answers to the confusing things that have happened since the year of the LA gear light up shoes to present.   

2. My Claddaugh

     Fastforward. I was in the 8th grade. My dad's second marriage has fallen apart. Well, it never really fused. But, life was finding a certain calm. My grandmother and I were thick as theives. Where she went I went. For most practical purposes I lived with her from 7th grade through my senior year of high school. I don't remember the holiday, but she gave me an Avon ring with a lab generated emerald in the middle. It was a crown resting on two hands, that reached out to hold the stone in the middle. I didn't think much of it when I got it. I think I just put it away for a few years. And then I read a story, or heard about what a Claddaugh was and went digging. I put it on when I was 14 and kept it on my hand until I was around 21. The ring was turned facing inward. My heart was taken. We went to Yosemite, and my fingers started to swell (just like they did when he proposed!). I took the ring off and put it in my pocket at Inspiration Point. When we got back down, the ring was gone. I cried. I told Nana and she didn't even blink. It wasn't a big deal to her. I don't even know if she knew I wore it. 

Day 31: What does aging mean to you?

When it comes to aging, I'm pretty Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde. Sometimes I'm afraid. Sometimes it keeps me up at night that I am constantly getting closer to my death. Sometimes I lay and try to allow the idea of nothingness to seep through me and remind me that none of what I'm doing will matter when it's over. Then, sometimes I'm apathetic. Most of the time I'm apathetic. I notice gray hairs as they come, I celebrate birthdays, I started moisturizing my face. I remember that osteoporosis is evident around my age, and wonder about my calcium intake; then I consider the other side of the calcium debate (thrombosis) and I rescend into "everything in moderation". I can't drink like I used to. I realize that sounds very old and cliche, but it is true. I get crazy heart thumping problems when I drink. I can have SOME drinks, but nights of binge drinking are way past me. I used to smoke a lot of weed. Now, I can't. I can smoke SOME weed, but I have to be in the right mood, and I have to be around the right people. 

And then there are other times that I am overwhelmed by the fortune of being here. Every day is a gift when you know someone who didn't get to do it. I became very angry when I heard of people repeatedly brushing death with drug overdoses or driving drunk. I immediately thought of a few people I care deeply about who didn't have the chance to TRY the day. Aging is a beautiful thing. Aging is something that we all do, from birth, but the race grows smaller and smaller as the game goes on. 

Now I will put a silly little passage on here that gives me great peace when the evils of aging arise. I didn't write it!!!!! 

The conversation of a set of twins in the womb of their mother ... 

“Say, do you actually believe in life after birth?” the one twin asks.

“Yes, definitely! Inside we grow and are prepared for what will come outside,” answered the other twin.

“I believe that’s nonsense!” says the first. “There can’t be life after birth—what is that supposed to look like?”

“I don’t exactly know either. But there will certainly be much more light than in here. And maybe we will be walking about and eat with our mouths?”

“I’ve never heard such nonsense! Eating with the mouth? What a crazy idea. There is the umbilical cord that nourishes us. And how do you want to walk about? The umbilical cord is much too short.”

“I am sure it is possible. It’s just that everything will be a little bit different.”

“You are crazy! Nobody ever came back after birth. Life is over with birth. That’s it.”

“I admit that nobody knows what life after birth will look like. But I do know that we will see our mother then, and that she will take care of us.”

“Mother???? But you don’t believe in a mother, do you? Where is she?”

“She is here, all around us. We are and we live within her and through her. Without her we couldn’t exist at all!”

“Nonsense! I’ve never sensed a mother, consequently she doesn’t exist.”

“Yes, sometimes, when we are very quiet you can hear her sing, or feel how she caresses our world.”

—Author Unknown

Day 28: The complete history of one man's life

The beginnings were like the beginnings of everyone else.

The story is the same; poor, but happy

Then when he turns two his father leaves. 

But two, just two, doesn't lend much to memory

So he formed the ideas of what he was and what he was from stories 

There's a storm brewing under the guise of protection.

Protection turns to capture wrapped in the most earnest and loving of intentions

He marries. 

They waste away; decaying in the shallowest horizon in muck of complacency.

But she's still there.

She still has the captive.

Her heart pours, as does the wallet. 

The old man comes back to die.

Again her heart pours, as does her pride. 

The old man is bitter now, 

nothing left to lose

He asks and asks and asks of her

and takes and takes and takes.

The boy is filled with blind hate.

The old man dies.

The boy has a daughter.

The boy's wife leaves. 

He's back to his capture. 

The best prison is one that doesn't look like a fortress

She steps in an fills the role the daughter needs.

She fills in gaps in love and food and money.

She fills in gaps she was never intended to fill

The boy finds another daughter

and another wife.

The whole time the capturer lingers in the shadows 

pointing out the errors

plugging holes with her blaming fingers.

The boy never really left home

When this marriage ends he's in ruins

the woman picked up his pieces and carried his burden

she started to realize what she's done.

she saw his handicap

she saw the damage already done

He leaned heavily on a breaking crutch because it's all he's ever known to do.

The crutch broke and so did he.

He never got up, he never stood on his own.

Instead he's just a baby bird who never left the nest.

The greater sadness to this whole mess is that the cycle doesn't end

he's created his own niche under his baby's arm now.

She leans on him; she'll lean until he breaks.

We are meant to leave home. We are meant to fly.

We are meant to learn and lose and love, but with a multitude of people; not just one.

Day 30: What have you stolen?

Stealing is such an interesting crime. Most crimes have severity to it. Like, murdering someone is worse than rolling through a stop sign; unless you roll through the stop sign and hit someone. Stealing is like its own diminsion of crime. We don't incarcerate for stolen candy. Similarly, there is an age gradient... well, more like a bell curve. Children and seniors get away with anything. And then each has their own individual concept of what is worse than something else. Like, "I'd steal this bottle of milk but I would never steal a steak." Of course, and finally, we have the illucive Intention. "Well, I planned on returning it." or "I simply needed to feed my family." Frankly the subjectivity of our court system is bizarre. 

But enough about the rest of the world and on to me. I have stolen: Chocolate milk. And occasionally food from the restaurant I worked at when I was in college. And then, I wouldn't even say I stole it. I would clock out early by 15 minutes-ish. Thus, giving them back 2 dollars or so. So realistically I borrowed against my own time. You see? Excuses. And this is why I am thankful we have a forgiving, and I'll bet, eye rolling God. Stealing is the easiest thing to divy sin affiliation to. You could go smalll time and discuss cursing or taking the lord's name in vain but stealing is easy. Eye. For. A. Fing. Eye. It doesn't get more serious than that. I do not regret it. I'm sure most people would say, "If you would steal a little bottle of chocolate milk what say's you wont steal my money? or steal something big time?" And its because I simply don't have motive. I've been working in people's homes for 5 years and its never been a temptation. 

Once when my step sister was 3-4 we went into a store and when we walked out she'd taken one of those gross "Cow Tail" chewy candy things. I must have been between the ages of 9-12. But I made her go back and turn it in. Seems hypocritical doesn't it?