Heart Beat Runnin' Away

What can I say? I drink beer now. Any beer. I don't even care. I listen to pop hip hop/pop music. I don't care - I've turned into a stereotype that pretentious college-Erica would hate. But I have something that college-Erica doesn't have: first of all, I'm skinny. Take that! I'm skinny AND I'm just getting better looking!!! Second, people are people, you little bitch. Quit being so stark about rules and the rights and wrongs and all the bull shit that you get so wrapped up in, that's what i'd say. I don't even know what I'm saying.

I got a deep tissue massage today and it was all the things: good. bad. healing. sad. But whatever. Please, don't ask me about it.

I, also, researched Shore Birds of Indiana. 44 of them. More than 44 shores. I think.

Seriously, though, MAYBE I've had too much beer, but can you believe life? And, like, everything that goes along with it?
Don't answer that.

Also, do you know when I started liking the Violent Femmes? You don't know this, but let me tell you. 6th grade. Sixth GRADE. I hadn't even started my menses when I knew all the words to Gone Daddy Gone. Jealous? You should be.

Do jelly fish feel pain? No, seriously. Do they? Because, if not, what do I have to do to be a jellyfish? I drink too much Miller Lite. And wine.

I wrote a poem today and it sucked. I can't believe I"m going to poetry school; i guess i can't even believe poetry school is real.
WTF.

This Old House Is Falling Down Around My Ears

I'm doing the most graceful pirouettes in this dizzying time of interim. A year from now seems blurry. A week from now is blurry. But right now, it feels good to pick up the fruits and eat them, to get red faced with whiskey, to pick apart the scales of the freshwater mermaid.

Life is myth. Or some lives are myth: superstition buried in the sand of Utah, love swirling around, tap dancing with the Tropic of Cancer, destruction with a fancy paper mask.

(Destruction with a fancy paper mask.)

You're Kind and You're Beautiful, Too

A stranger told me today that I have beautiful skin. I wish I could tell you about how deep this is. I can't, but if I could, you'd understand that when she said "beautiful" I broke apart in an ancient way. Beautiful? Here I am. Beautiful.

She said something about "no makeup" and "no wrinkles" and "glowing" - she looked right in my eyes. I loved her endlessly for a few pure moments. I felt bare-footed on the firstday. I felt like nothing had ever been over. I felt a little closer to whole. And, don't get me wrong, it's not because she thinks I'm pretty. Don't mistake what I'm saying for "pretty". Please. She wasn't seeing that.

She was seeing contentment. And a human who was brave enough to shed the anxieties that clouded a pink heart. She was seeing cotton candy. And deep breaths. She was seeing New Mexico, braided hair and dirty fingernails. She knew me for a moment.

She knew it all without even knowing.
I thanked her, and tried to express with skinny words how she made gravity a little less, but she didn't get it.

She didn't get it. But I get it, guys. I do.

It's been coming for sometime

Today I had a half day. My weeks will boast a few of those now -and anyway, today was one of them. As I was walking back to my car from the chinese restaurant, food in hand, I saw a friend who I used to work with at the library. It was nice, seeing her face in the sunshine and not under fluorescent bulbs - we hugged very near a busy intersection - we didn't care, really. It was warm to see her pretty face. And, here's the (second) best part of this story...

She said I looked good. Or happy. Or both. She couldn't decide which to land on.

And there you have it.

There are different reasons for it; I know it's not *just* job stuff, but let's not kid ourselves. Right? And yes, it's very early yet for both jobs. But I'm free. The moment I quit the library, something was let loose - something supernatural. I don't have to do things that make me unhappy. I don't have to make my decisions based on other people. I get to decide. I don't have to feel guilty.

I haven't let myself be. Just be. You know?

Other big reasons I'm happy? Well, I have bikes. And buds to ride with. And badminton. And summer.

And wine. Yes. I have these things.

I don't care: I love it

I had a revelation today. Basically, it goes like this: if I'm unhappy - it's on to the next one. I bet you want a little back story, huh?

Yesterday, I was offered another job. Like, she called me. She said, "The whole office voted," she said. She said, "We all want you." Well, anyway, this is troubling because I just accepted a position at that little, local winery right west on 24. The problem is: I want both. And I want school. And I want time to be a real life person. And I want to be able to eat this summer. But I also want to play backyard games and get stupid sweaty and really drunk with a shuttlecock in my hand, at least 2x a week, you know? Is that too much to ask? (probably.)

And let's face it, what a great problem to have. I totally recognize this, and please, don't hate me for stewing... but no worries, because me? Well..

I've made up my mind and it goes something like this: I can do whatever I want. And I damn well intend to.

I'll Be Up Up and Away

Here it is. Here it comes. I want to make this official unofficial announcement right here on this blog. Are you ready for it, because it's going to make you feel like standing on top of light poles and scream happy profanities into the air. It's going to make you want to high-five every stranger in a 3 mile radius. It's going to make you think, "yeah. Maybe." in the face of a terribly devastating personal conflict.. Are you ready?

I've made the decision to leave the library. I've accepted a position at Two-EE's Winery in Roanoke.

I'm disengaging from customer service from the public library and stepping into an atmosphere of service that revolves around wine. I can't explain how nervous I am. I mean, I can. I'm really-terribly-bite-all-my-nails-off nervous. It's less money, it's less hours - but it's a step up as far as my brain and soul are concerned.

Out my window: a vineyard. My bosses are fresh faced. I get to wear all black. (!!) You will come in, I will talk to you about wine. Ask about your family. Your hometown. Your favorite wine. And probably (hopefully) you won't yell at me for asking you to stay off your cell phone in the Early Learning Center. Probably (hopefully) you won't call me a racist because I ask your kids to follow the rules. Probably (hopefully) you'll walk out the doors and say, "isn't that place nice? Their wine is good. The staff is great. Amen." (you'll probably leave off the Amen, but who knows.)

I'm excited. I normally don't have enough courage to take such a big risk. But this time was different. My entire spirit has become fatigued in the daily crucifixion. I made a choice that involves lots of unknowns, but here's this thing: after May 10th I get to hang out with wine. And people who love wine.
For 30 hours a week.

Far more aware than I have been

Today it was mostly eating the small moments with a delicate fork and well poised knife. "The sun really showed up and is doing it's job" was a good salutation to a really weird morning - but it's true what he said. The sun had armies. They blew my face off.

With unsteady steps I walked up my stairs in someone else's purple sweatpants and fancy blue shoes, nearly my burial shroud, or so it felt. The only longing was for my empty bed- dried wine in the cuts on my lips. A bruise on my chin. Arms that smelled like vomit.

Let's get one thing straight, I don't ever mean to binge drink. I don't ever mean to nearly die in my friends' new home. I don't ever mean to make other people's husbands carry me to their homes. Last night, I fucked up. And I'm embarrassed. And I'm sorry. But, in a very serious way, I'm grateful.

And way scared.

I'm blood and carbon and magic. And these ribs and this heart - I've only been given this. And I'm sorry I'm not a better steward. And I'm sorry that I'm falling into a stereotype. And I'm so goddamned sorry that I have to keep saying sorry.

But like I said before, the sun showed up. Thank goodness. And the moments today, even the ones where I felt heavy with a coat of guilt, were welcomed. If I would have felt better, I would have thrown each minute today a fucking party. Hugged them like I'm picking them up at the airport.

will someone please call a surgeon?

Don't let me alone with my own devices. And if I had any authority at all, I'd make it an order. (But I don't. So I won't.) But I suppose the only thing I can really say is, "don't let me hang out with a box of wine alone."

Also, today was a furniture shopping kind of day. Full of rain and carpet and salesmen who wanted to sleep with me.. It was just a tiny bit terrible and would have been worse if I didn't have some nice smooth Brandy (and an aunt who really gets it) to hang out with.

Life is sometimes one recliner after another. And honestly, that's just par for the course.

it's too late to say you're sorry

Some things will never change, though. In my grandpa's top left-hand-drawer, there will always be containers of floss, super sharp finger nail clippers and hearing aid batteries. When I'm here, I will fill the coffee maker with appropriate amounts of finely ground coffee and water and hit the "delay brew" button. The dishwasher will depend on me. I will drink wine after everyone goes to bed and I will pine away under the orange glow of Main Street.

They haven't changed yet. Not here. This sanctuary, despite the shit storm this winter, has yet to be tainted by you fucks out there.

I don't know how to describe the calm that comes along with this place. A certain structure in knowing that no matter what the goddamn circumstances are, I'll have two insanely gorgeous people who love me like no other. And despite the thawing river and the inevitable, beautiful end - we have the moments we have.

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.

where i see a lot of stars

I drink beer now. And Merlot. I don't know what's happening.

I actually do, but anyway...

I am assigning phases in life, familiar situations, to alcohol. Okay, you ready?

Sweet reds - flings.
A good, and true Moscato - one night stand or a serious 2 day stint of sexting with a (kind of) stranger. Merlot - A complicated relationship, complete with comfort and conflicting feelings.

Shot of tequila followed by sangrita - a seriously good masturbation.
PBR (or Hamm's) - maybe one kiss on the cheek, or can be subbed out for a fun night with friends.
Drambuie - sitting in the evening sun.

Whiskey and coke - Writing when you're lonely.
Mojito - Wearing a tank top that shows a little too much of your (hot) side boob.
Lemon Drop Martini - well, this one needs no explanation.

So, you see what I'm doing? I'm becoming an alcoholic. But, I don't care. Life is hard - and love is hard - and separating the darks from the lights is hard. Everything is sore, so I drink and become familiar with fake scenarios that give me comfort.

Is that so wrong?

only, I don't know how

I happen to be okay by myself. Which is shocking and unexpected news from someone who rates as a 99% extrovert on all the personality tests. (Let's be honest, I've only taken the Myers-Briggs: ENFJ, gentlemen.) But I'm okay alone. Let me clarify, though, to allow no room for error. I'm okay alone for a small amount of time. And by alone, I mean, surrounded by people. Because here I am on a Friday night, the husband is out of town and I tote my laptop to my favorite pizza place, order wine and listen to the hum of happy families eating. It's still alone, right? Just *not* alone. It's a seriously complicated paradox, but me? I'm okay with it.

It wasn't always so, as it is with every love story. In college I was not okay. The middle of my sophomore year I was a funeral march. Everything was devastating - I stayed in bed for hours and days and hours in a day and months more like, it was foreign to me. The soles of my feet were heavy with pain - why would I want to walk?

And here's the turn around: one night, locked in a study room in the upstairs of the library trying my little heart out to type a Philosophy paper, I called my Nena and cried and cried and cried about everything. I just kept sobbing "I'm so sad" over and over again. She waited until I took a breath (a gasp, a "MAN OVERBOARD" kind of thing) and she said calmly and seriously and full of the softness of a goddamned rose, she said: "pack your bags. I'm coming tonight."

That's the woman who helped build me.

That's the woman who had a major health scare this week - everything is fine, now. But Tuesday I was convinced that every breath I took, every red light I saw on my frantic drive down to her house was going to be forever stayed in my heart as a fucking curse.
Did I mention she's fine now?

She is. And I'm not sure I've ever been so thankful. Because here is the truth: my life is nothing without her joy. Because sharing a bottle of Merlot with her on the north porch in my hometown beats everything. Everything. She is mine and there is no simple way to say it. With her living, I live.

I know you understand.

my darling, dear, love you all the time

Oh, Jesus Christ, summer. I pine the year away waiting for summer and it's here and then it's gone - just like that. To be fair, it's still summer, but autumn is teasing me. "Right around the corner," I hear her saying. I'm devastated. Broken-hearted, they say in some parts of the country. But it's fine, you know, cycles and spinning and life and all that mumbo-jumbo.

This summer will always be the bat summer, you guys. 2012: The Summer of the Bat. Rabies-Summer 2012. The summer where we learned that yes, in fact, Andy is the brave one of the two of us. The summer where we learned that I know exactly what a bat sounds like, even in my half-awake-kinda-drunk state. We found out that despite Andy being in somewhat mortal danger, my ass will HIDE in the bathroom, lock the door and shut the transom. We learned that rabies is not eradicated from the human species and that the vaccines are incredibly expensive. I discovered that panic attacks can actually make a person long for alcohol, valium, in-patient mental care and sleep... boy, did I miss sleep. But, it's over. We're four days away from completing our Post-Exposure Rabies Regimen. I can chill the obsession of reading about what it's like to die of rabies. I can STOP the google searches "Indiana Brown Bat Flight Patterns", "Brown Bat Rabies", "Bat Babies"... I *can* stop, but probably I won't.

Other things happened this summer, too. Seriously. I took a badass southwestern vacation. Stomach viruses caused me to get a meth makeover.(SPOILER ALERT) A blind girl won Master Chef. I did stand up comedy (not very well). I was invited to participate in a poetry reading. Darth Vader visited the library. And you know, other things, but let's face it. Rabies is scary and I can't get it off my mind. I know the chances of us actually having been bit by that damn bat are really low, but not low enough to where I'll put my life on the line to actually test it. Which means one thing, guys. I actually care about my life.

So, use that. When I start to bitch, tell me, "don't start that belly-aching, girl. You like your life. You got that rabies shot."

And I'll have to agree.

the only time i feel alright is by your side

this life is crazy mixed up busy and mind blowing. yep. traveling and working and moving shit out of our bedroom to get hardwood floors. living with your clothes in your living room is whack. whatever. so, i've nearly polished off 3/4 of a bottle of wine tonight. i hate to say this, because it shows that i have eating issues AND drinking issues, but i deserve as many calories as i want tonight because work sucks major dick. (excuse the expression. i know, it's crass). i like my job sometimes, people. don't get me wrong. but sometimes it's just so hard. hard. hard. hard. hard like a jersey shore boner. that's what i said earlier.

here's a run down: first and foremost, my big fat ass has got to start running again. I run a race on December 3rd. I can't be last place. that'll make me feel badly. secondly, i'm going to see my mom this weekend. sometimes i get nervous about that. it'll be fine. i came from her carbon and blood and foam. third, i get to see my friends jon and amy at the end of this month! fourth, i get to see my friend beremy (who is going to live with me - and we're gonna start a baking/brewing blog and things are going to be awesome because i feel so lonely and i'm actually going to have a friend who will hang out with me... and so on and so on!) and this weekend, while i'm away, my landlord is renovating my floors. i'm excited. it'll be a nice ass change.

here's this other thing i want to tell you, i can drink a quarter of a bottle of wine and still type a blog post. i'm not sure if that's good. or if that's bad.

one more thing. that's me with a TINY back pack on my back. that's my face saying "don't even, yeah right!"