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 At that point, I rescinded the deadline.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.