Share My Bread and Wine

I am not surprised. I'm the kind of girl who gets rabies. And who breaks her foot before the race. I'm magnetic in all the wrong ways. I feel things too much in my bones. I fall in love with all vibrations. I feel that blue collar catastrophe, personally. I want a sharp hair line and the kind of collar bone that perfectly spills into shoulders. Maybe beer on the couch is best. Or red wine in the morning, in a coffee mug. And stars beaming through electronics. I'm that kind. The ruiner kind.

Things end.


That's how my book would start.

'Cause I'm Moving Out

Probably this is going to alarm you. Don't let it. Know that it's coming from a spot where sincerity and honesty fester together. So, don't call my mom or anything. This is what I want to say:

If I haven't already told you, I care about you. And if anything should happen to me between now and the next time we talk, I want you to know it. I want you to know that thing we said to each other that one time was special. I'm serious. And you've probably been a person to save me, at least once. And a lot of the time, I write for you. I do.

As a follow up - when I was a teenager, I didn't think I'd ever be a grown up. I am one, though. Kind of. But now, I don't know what I'm doing. Is it weird to say I think I missed my chance to die? It is weird to say, but whatever. I'm throwing off the balance. And I'm paying retribution to whatever force I tricked into living.

Anyway, if I do not see you: Thank you.

You Sat Alone

Don't let the sun even lay claim on that skin of yours. My hands have sprawled over the expanse of your back, and she can't begin to know what that means. I can't begin to know what that means.

I won't try.

But now, it isn't summer anymore. And everything is changing.

Only The Good Die Young

I want to tell you about poetry school. I want to be able to say, shyly, "Who woulda' thought, you know?" and you say, in sweetness, "I thought. I always thought" in the kind of way a dad would say. Except we would both know that you've been worried about my trajectory.

Teach me to change my oil, would ya? And while we're at it, can we conquer the country roads with a manual shift?

Let's sit on the porch and gossip about your neighbor lady, but the good gossip. The "can you believe how earnest she is about keeping strangers out of our yard?" gossip. And the "She's honestly still kicking" and "She never NOT talks about her surgery" gossip. We'd start every sentence with: "I mean, I'm not talking bad, but.." We'd finish (probably) a 12 pack of beer and feel fulled up with the meat of a good-goddamned autumn night.

Tell me the importance of measuring twice, cutting once. Tell me the mistakes you've made, that seemed big, but now are small.

Is everything permanent? If not, why does it seem like concrete has filled the little sacs in my lungs?

We should be crazy one night and buy expensive tickets to a rock and roll show. We can sit and eat up the night; poison it with sentiment. If you wanted, I'd let you tell me about when you fell in love with mom, what it was like in the 80s, the first time you heard Guns'N'Roses, why you stayed with mom, what it was like when your children were born... If you wanted, I'd listen all night, after the music died with the moon. Maybe we'd drink a little bourbon and I'd promise my first born would have your name. Girl or boy.

Maybe one day I'd call you and cry, but I'd call you because I just needed your voice to calm me, like it did when I was a tiny with an upturned nose. You'd say, "Did I ever tell you about that time we were in the abortion clinic - and I looked at your mom and your mom looked at me? Did I tell you what I said?" [Silence] "I said, 'I think we can do this,' and so we left." And that would appease me. That would reaffirm me that at least two people in the whole world, so big/so small, loved me before I even existed. And I'd stop crying. We'd probably make dinner plans. Afterwards, I'd help you weed the garden.

Anyway, I want to tell you about poetry school. But you're dead.

i hope we hold on til the last exit

The swing on my grandparent's porch is moving with the wind. Their dishwasher just gave up on dinner plates and me? I'm up past midnight writing and drinking. There are a handful of things I want to describe in detail, I have nearly 7 poems started (fragments and broken sentences floating around, dying to escape and live and breathe) but alas, words fail the occasion.

Today, I woke up $800 poorer. Someone somewhere landed my identity and paid lots of money for make up and pajamas and shoes. If that bitch only knew what it was like in my identity, she'd apologize. She'd probably say, "oh, you poor, sad girl. Your grandma is broken? And you're deathly alone? And you feel panic everywhere? I'm sorry," she'd say. She might hug me and say that she's had a rough year, too.

But, it's just another thing in this world.

This world.

bring me a dream

This is my favorite time of the year - I know, I know, that's a very Shit Girls Say kind of thought, but it's true. It's refreshing, feels like the end to a long day deep breath. It's a sigh, a feeling of "finally", you know? Now, in a few weeks I'll be sad that summer is just a memory, but right now I feel very content - floating in water, resting, listening to wind.

It won't last. Nothing lasts, not with me anyway.

That's okay, though. I can live in this moment right now - the sea of foliage, the easiness of cooler weather on my skin - the capability of being free during the inbetweens. I can do it. And when the time comes that I'm not so relaxed, I can remember when I was.

When I was young, we had a big brick, built up grill in our back yard - I busted my skull on it once running away from a kid named Keith. That night was full of good, full of bad but wonderfully bloody and sweaty. Life is like that.

birds pass by to tell me that i'm not alone

My dad's name was Dayne. Dayne Thomas Anderson. He was a handsome man, funny and sincere. People wanted to be his friend - his authenticity was palpable from across the room. I'm not kidding. He had a good laugh, a barrel chest and teeny tiny heart tattoo on his left arm.

He was born in late December back in '63 (yep, like the song)and he wore socks to his calves. My feet look a lot like his did.

My mom divorced him for a few reasons, one of them: he had a drinking problem. A big one. And even though he was an amazing example of a true and genuine human, his faults destroyed his family on several occasions. It was devastating to hear them fight as a tiny girl from my bedroom and know the *exact* moment it turned physical because the fighting sounded differently. It was hurtful to know too much, like how extra-marital affairs were commonplace in my parents' marriage as an 8 year old. I knew the phone number to the police, by heart. I would hide and call them if things got too much for my little heart to handle. I couldn't participate in fundraisers; the money would be used for booze. These things, I'll never forget.

But along with those things, I know he loved me. I know he quit drinking for my brother and me - I know those things because he told me ALL THE FUCKING TIME. He apologized and I believed him. Strike that, I believe him. Alcoholism is a disease and because he was my dad and I was his daughter and because we are Andersons and because I know that life is a fuck fest most of the time, I forgive him. AND I believe him. I know he's sorry and I know that if he were alive, we'd be close.

People tell me I remind them of his best times. They tell me I have his smile and his social charisma. And I'm proud of that. I'm happy to be Dayne Anderson's daughter. I know now what I couldn't have understood then. And that is quite alright.

I know you've been hurting

The kitchen was quiet tonight - it was me (soggy hands) and tomato stained bowls. My breathing was steady; no explanation - just steady.

Some days that's a little miracle.

And outside, tiny little specks of water hit the window. Quietly.

what a shame that you came here with someone

Today is too good to wake up with a gooey right eye and a sore scratchy throat. And even though, this year, I've been getting sick every other month, I'm going to declare, "Not this time!!" And if it has to happen, it's not happening today. I have too many things to accomplish: too many Vietnamese foods to eat, too many friends to hang out with, too many sunshines to soak up, too many other fun things that I don't have the energy to list... So, I won't.

But before I completely vaporize into the sunny day that's awaiting me, full of positivity and happiness, I'm just going to ask:
What the fuck?

What the fucking hell is happening to me? Why do I get sick so damn much these days? I used to only get the sniffles like once a year - and if I did succumb to sickness, it was ONCE - NOT ALL THE TIME.

I have one, and only one, conclusion: The Library. And I stand by that shit.

go find another lover.

nashville senior portrait. aka: blog post to come soon.

this is the sound of settling

the absolute best part about being sick is the feeling better afterwards. that's a stupid ass thing to say, i know, but i'm saying it anyway. everything is amplified. booze, sunshine, cream cheese frosting, tv, hugs, sex, i mean.. just everything. well - not work.  ((zing))

it's officially fall - i've made my first autumnal flavored baked good this evening, pumpkin cupcakes with cinnamon cream cheese frosting. Yes, they will give your mind a blow job, (excuse my crass language, but it's funny to me tonight. Probably because saying "blow job" is funnier after one has been deathly ill for a while). But I'm not kidding. Here's the recipe. Make them. Do it. Don't be a baby.

Currently listening to Death Cab for Cutie's Transatlanticism. You know what, I'm not ashamed. This album is good like breathing is good. I like it, reminds me of college and since i'm so old, it's nice to remember. I saw them in chicago promoting this cd. it was a date with my now husband - and we stood close, and swayed our bodies together and were drunk with noise and people and hot with the crowd. we clapped our hands feverishly at the end, but i kind of think we were applauding one another.

If you need a friend don't look to a stranger

today is better, y'all. what i mean to say is, i only have an ear infection now - nothing else hurts! yay! i do think that i've completely forgotten what it's like to feel good. it's like, a distant memory you can almost savor, but just...not...quite. it's okay. this happens to carbon based beings.

the other day i promised a poem. I didn't follow through, but i usually don't. this is reason #546 on a long list of why i'm not sure i should have kids. it's hard for me to keep promises. whatever.

In case you didn't know: this week is banned books week. let me encourage all of my 2 readers to read a book that offends people - try to read said book in front of conservative christians. please. :)

I'm jumping around today. Hop scotch blog, but who cares? I'm harboring a Saturday-evening-holds-a-lot-of-potential-so-sue-me attitude. OH, and happy autumn. What a day! shout to the earth let it sing. (some praise and worship in your face).

with love come strange currencies

the air is light on my skin and these lungs are full with the promise of leaves and tea and hearty soup - this weather makes me feel romantic. build a nest, preen and nestle down for the long haul romantic. In a month, I'll be sad, longing for the sun, but right now, the idea of apocalyptic red leaves mixing in with apple cider makes me want to die an autumnal death. decomposing slowly in the cold, hard mud, my skin would fall off my bones in a wonderful turn of the earth. we forget we are and come from the earth. in other news, should i get this hat?