heels down

I swear I have my heels down and am being dragged into the new year.

As excited as I am for some huge changes, both in act and theory, I am increasingly shocked by the speed at which the last year went by, and thus begin to fear I'm getting old, getting slow.

Heels down.

don't stop

"It doesn't matter how slowly you go, as long as you do not stop."

I'm having one of those....turn off your cell phone at 8pm, and leave it off....nights. Weeks, really. Life is moving so quickly. And the reason is that it is so full. So deep and so wide. So adult. But I kind of just want to be a kid. I've never really just simply gotten to be a kid. I'm just tired. Just feeling alone, feeling like I have failed.

A teacher today told me to always seek alternative routes. So I'm seeking an alternative to my typical wallow in my defeat route everytime I get overwhelmed. I am not stopping - I am not breaking down and giving up. I am simply moving more slowly for the time, recharging a bit, but moving.

Really it just shows that I'm getting stronger, I'm getting better at this. Even if I don't want to be stronger or better, it seems the child inside me, that wants so badly to come out, is dying. and making more room for the adult in me to fully take hold. The ultimate bittersweet situation, wouldn't you say?

Content

It tends to be disruptive when material is presented as fact, when in fact, under a seperate context it would simply not be so.

take caution.

Two Weeks

"Two weeks away feels like the whole world should have changed but I'm home now - and things still look the same. I think I'll leave it till tomorrow to unpack, and try to forget for one more night that I'm back in my flat on the road where the cars never stop going through the night...to a life where I can't watch the sunset: I don't have time.....I don't have time..."

For once, I'm not the one with sand still in my shoes.

It feels good to not be attached - It feels good to be selfish.

Am I growing up?

Guess What?

It's fascinating how much you can really do if you put your mind to it..

..if you really take the time to plan it out and take selective course of action..

Complete sincerity, honest passion. Is there anything else like it?

one and only

i know it ain't easy giving up your heart.
i know it ain't easy giving up your heart.
i know it ain't easy giving up your heart.
i know it ain't easy giving up your heart.
trust me.

Adele + One and Only

This year's love

So I actually do have real-person feelings.

I'm glad for this realization. I suddenly feel much more alive and human. Much more "OK". Much more like it might be acceptable to let these tears that are burning behind my eyes...come out.

I can face these feelings. And for that, I feel strong.

Here's the thing though. It doesn't change the fact that you're gone. And as aware as I am that I just want to curl up in a ball and never get out of bed because of you, I'm also disgustingly aware of the fact that you are long gone, and never coming back. I cringe at the idea that I'll need to slowly burn through my day and face the numerous reminders of your existence.

And I cringe, because I know, I'm headed right back to the place I was before I met you. Unopen, deeply removed, and completely disbelieving in love, life and future.

I'm sorry.

My this has turned into a weapfest.

painful

The painful realization that your words actually make him sick.


That you are not special in any way.

That you will not be one of those fairy tale stories.


That you are completely and utterly alone.



That yeah, it just happened...again.


That you trust people too much, and love too easily.




That love does not exist.

I don't mind spending all my money on books.

Oh boy

I knew it was bad and misleading to keep pretending maybe he'd fly up.

then i hallucinated that i saw him.

girl's gotta got to bed.

Tardy

I waited way too long to write up this thought.
The person who taught me this has gone ahead and left my life...

I hate the fact that I can take away a life lesson from him, but not take him, too.

I had all these provisions that I was so sure had to be filled by Mr. Wonderful.
He needed to be a cowboy. Because cowboys know how to do EVERYTHING. and they smell like leather, and they're rough, and strong and brave.

You understand.

Turns out, a guy doesn't need to be a cowboy in order to be strong and brave and wonderful.

I've learned that I often won't be able to put people in these little provisional boxes. I need to analyze their qualities one by one, and break down my own expectations further, additionally. Everyone is so dynamic, fearfully and wonderfully made.

I'll love his soul, more than anything anyway. That's what it's really about.

Though I do love horses.

Humility

I drove a '97 Jeep Grand Cherokee for my first 3 years as a licensed driver. (Yes, licensed is a key word there.) That thing had rust...dust...cobwebs and mice living in it, and it was absolutely wonderful. Never broke down (to the point I couldn't fix...or duct tape), never got in an accident, just loudly rolled around on the road for 3 glorious years.

That thing kept me humble. I now drive a BMW, but let me tell you, I needed those three years. You think your hot shit right out of driving school.

I've been working hard to try and relate this to something with the correct level of irony. Rubber band? Operant Conditioning? Here's my poor attempt:

I feel as though I've been climbing through a reasonably untrodden path in the forest of my life (we can hypothetically call that path....Love. Hypothetically, of course). A while back I was similarly climbing, and I held a branch out of my face, but it slipped, and smacked me in the face. Ouch, not cool. Next time, whats up, ya learn. Ya hold the branch a little tighter, grab it with a little more force and purpose, if you so dare to test it's own strength after all.

Who gets smacked a second time but me? Of course?

The only possible way of chalking any of this up to anything is that, hey. Sometimes we need a good smack. Keeps us humble.

Usually

As per my usual, I have a long list of things I should be doing that fall much higher on the priority level than blogging. But, it's a form of exhaust for my brain and it's capacity, so I claim this as a necessary step before delving into my tasks for the evening.

Most parents, love their children dearly. Big events like scoring a goal, graduating school, landing a big job, tend to evoke a sense of pride that they often audibly share with their children. Wonderful.

There's another angle that pride should come through, that for me so far, it has not. I'm busy and crazy and over achieving, and somehow, in expressing this to any friends or romances, there's a sense of jealousy, competition or otherwise. Never pride. Never appreciation or admiration.

My most recent romance, one that I like very much actually, recently listened with wide open ears as I shared of my plans for the day, which, let's be real, were ridiculous. There are never enough hours in the day. He replied with "I am so proud of you".

Floored.

Fall over the your chair.

Really?

Yeah. Simple and honest, and somehow more meaningful than most other things anyone could have said. Knowing someone is "proud of you" evokes a much different inner feeling that knowing someone "loves you" or knowing someone "cares about you" or "thinks of you". They take pride in knowing you, in calling you theirs.

I like that, someone takes pride in knowing I'm theirs.

Brains

I have trouble with the idea that the brain is this infinite locket of space and understanding. We were fearfully and wonderfully made, and it is a masterpiece, don't discount. BUT, I hate the fact that we so often need to "make room" for other things. Other feelings.

I've done a bit of that. Really I think it's much more rearranging than getting rid of things in order to replace them.

Keeping that preference in mind (that it's more of a rearranging, than forgetting in order to let something else in)...then, yes.

we are fearfully and wonderfully made. And I'd like to welcome the new addition to my crowded house. It's been awhile since everything has felt this right.

Bones

I work in a very casual corporate type of environment. We have a handbook because our HR company makes us, and the whole content of it is a bit of a joke. For example, you get 10 days paid vacation if you donate bone marrow. Really? Who does that? It's extremely painful.

I read an article about a 19 year old girl who donated her bone marrow to an 8 year old and saved her life. She was a part of a program where you could sign up as a donor, and if your cells match, you could be called at anytime in for surgery. Truly inspiring. Truly, a painful process.

Looking at this in the scope of life as I so love to do, how often do we have to let go of a piece of ourself, to better something else?

Sometimes, saying goodbye to a very deeply rooted, core piece of who you are and what makes up your entire structure, despite how rivetingly painful and entirely consuming, is in actuality, a necessary step to save another piece, or at least help it.

There are so many metaphors one can utilize to view life in this light...without the rain the flowers won't grow. Without the rain there is no rainbow. No pain, no gain.

Without ever having seen flowers before, or without your eye on a prize to make that pain worthwhile, the pain simply doesn't seem worthwhile. And thus, I am reminding you, and me.

I know

He laid down on the bed and then invited me over, head cocked to the side with a challenging half smile. Raised one arm as if to say “Look, here, this is where you should be….now where are you?”.

I climbed over the suitcase and across the bed and rubbed my head right into that little corner above his shoulder, under his chin…right where my head fits perfectly.

He grabbed a handful of my hair in his hand and played gently with it as he sang in a half whisper into my ear.

“You know, I don’t want anything else. Only be in your arms…”

His lips sang into my forehead as the song turned softly into a kiss.

With closed eyes, I melted. I breathed in deep the first boy unafraid to love me.

Wave

New York is experiencing a heatwave to the tune of 100-110 degrees fahrenheit. Oh it's good fun, I can assure you. We are in day 4, and expecting Day 5 tomorrow.

As I was driving along, windows down (my AC needs a good re-charge, and hey, a little sweat is good for the skin, right?) sweating uncontrollably, I realized that we all were. And that was that.

Sweating on a hot day is the only naturally occurring bodily function that we don't need to apologize for or feel embaressed about because honestly, we all get it...it's hot. When generally any other bodily function without clear explanation is seen as a flaw, walking into a grocery story with sweat stains on my back and arms is completely normal, and nobody gives it a second glance. I find this absolutely fascinating. First that there is ANY bodily function that society can grant an excuse for (excuse yourself after you sneeze, burp, yawn...don't even think about flatulating...), and second...that it is SO completely forgiven. Completely. Maybe society isn't quite as jaded as I had pinned it for after all. Every once and again, it comes up with somethin to remind me it has a sense of humor.

Something

I think I might be onto something.
I haven't sat still since I was six years old.

Honest, since age six, every day of my life has been thoroughly planned out.
I'm a productivity monster with blonde hair,
and somehow managed to complete every task and challenge set before me.

Strangely enough, in my old age (hah)
things seem to be slowing down almost...
easier....
For a moment I felt very much less alive
very much like I needed to fill some sort of time void with SOMETHING
But when you line the cards up
This girl's gotta full plate. How can I possibly feel like I'm breathing properly?
Like I'm actually having time to think and be still

I felt lazy. I felt like I was missing something.
Then I realized....
I'm just a well practiced do-er.
I'm just good at this.

And something I've added into the mix seems to be giving me a new sense of self
a new air to breathe and rejuvinate.

I think they call it following your heart.

Make Me Laugh

From: New Jersey
Sent: Monday June 27, 2011 9:55 AM
To: Leighann
Subject: Make me laugh

Tell me a joke...please
___________________________________

OK well I don't really know any good jokes,
Except for blonde jokes...
Which I just feel funny about telling.
A bit of a conflict of interest, wouldn't you say?
So how about this,
I'm really much better at rambling.
I mean I could probably talk to you for like 2 hours non -stop.
I mean I might stop to take a sip of water or something.
So maybe I can talk for 119 minutes straight.
And really about anything.
I could talk about a door handle for 119 minutes without stopping.
I find it to be a bit of a gift.
So in deciding to ramble to you
Rather than tell you a joke,
Which really just simply wouldn't turn out well,
I find that...
Taking up the 15-20 seconds of your time to read this
You will hopefully turn up the edges of your lips...just at ouch..
Or if not...if you're a stone-faced reader...
There will be little chemicals in your brain shooting off saying
"Yeaaa man we like what we're hearing (reading/computing)"
And you'll get a little lighter in the mind.
A little "redder" if it was my mind.
That's something I always found funny.
Most people, when they get angry,
Say that they "see red"
I believe them...because that phrase comes from
People bursting blood vessels out of pure pressure and frustration,
and literally seeing red.
It's a fact ;)
BUT. When I get angry, I don't see dark red...
I see dark gray.
When I get happy I see light red.
Like...first coat of red nail polish red.
Like...see through balloon red.
I wish I could relate colors to colors of fireworks.
Then maybe we could see eye to eye..
I wish we could see eye to eye...RIGHT NOW.
hehe. I'd kiss you I think.

Honestly

Life is stupidly simple. I don't care which way you swing it. How many family issues you have, political disjuncts, millions of friends, lack of friends, diseases, what have you. Life is life and it is made up of elements that are so black and white; you're either yes or no.

Doing your job or not.
In love, or not.

Honestly, it's all about Honesty. Break it all down to the bare minimum and it becomes strikingly clear. It's simple, even despite, for example, all of the confines that New York State Law places on a procedure.

However simple honesty may be, it is often the hardest thing to face. But believe me when I tell you; face the scary monster, he's really just a facade before the truth.

How could there be any other way?

I am perfectly cognizant of the fact that there are inumerous ways in which one can carry out their plans, make decisions, prioritize and organize and frankly, I wish other people were as well.

This "pet peeve" of mine, I think, has shattered the pet peeze structure and crossed the line into being simply something I cannot stand. It proved this, when it broken several friendships or potential relationships up.

When someone offers an alternative, I am thrilled. Their input and advice is always so greatly honored and admired. However, when someone offers their advice with full passion that their answer is the pinhole into eternity, I am hurt and irritated by their lack of realization that hmm, perhaps I put some thought into my actions, too.

You see, just about everything I do has a great amount of thought behind it. If it doesn't, I'll be the first to admit it. And when someone else comes in with their (certainly, thrilling) idea, undercutting the fact that I chose my way for a reason, I choke on my explanation in anger and just shut down.

These were the first starlings into my realization that I tend to think differently. My second clue was that I have synesthesia. My third, that I almost always disagree, argue, "guess wrong" or just think differently than class collectives, teachers, advisors, etc. I knew I was either frighteningly brilliant, or disgustingly dumb.

Here's what conclusion I've come to. I say all the time, that I have not lived a normal life thus far. I have experiences that have effected the way I behave and think. I had a true test, this past weekend. I was point blank asked why I was doing something a particular way, and the answer was based on an experience no one my age has had yet.

Mystery solved. I'm not necessarily wrong, and neither are you. Just different. And I like my way better =)

Check

Forget your personal tragedy. We are all bitched from the start and you especially have to be hurt like hell before you can write seriously. But when you get the damned hurt, use it – don’t cheat with it. (by Rebecca Tabor Armstrong)

Selfish

I realize that my posts have slowly turned into quite the introspective and honestly very selfish sessions of almost diary-like thoughts.

What if dance got ripped away because fat knew something else was coming..and that if all my heart was in dance I wouldn't give it to Him...


What if now I don't want him anymore....

Rotten

I just wrote a great post, and came to a really great conclusion. It was all about healing, and how sometimes "moving on" isn't what your mean't to do or want to do, and really sometimes we just want to go backwards.

Unfortunately, going backwards isn't an option, and going forwards is something that can't be helped. So sometimes we need to take a snapshot, and just keep that memory forever.

It was a great post, really. Quite strong, and the colors were all right.

Except I didn't agree with myself. I don't want to take a snapshot of the 15 years I spent slaving on a dance floor, I want to keep going. I could show you the spots of blood on the floor that belong to me. My heart beats to the music. I had beat the odds already. I'm not ready to heal, I don't want to heal, I can't heal. So when going back isn't an option, and moving forward is inevitable, and a snapshot is just a cheap, two-dimensional version of the love of your life, what happens then?

I died. And I don't know how to come back to life. And I don't really know if I want to.

Rotten

I'm a great healer. I can bounce back like rubber band. Resilient, bending and not breaking, agile, the whole lot. Generally, this is because I never really let things get to close to me, but c'mon, that's neither here nor there.





I've been through alot of what I call "bee stings". It's like a huge massive tragedy when it actually occurs and it stings like crazy. When you hold an ice cube against it, the ice cube just melts and you get all wet and messy, and then the summer sun gets to you for a minute or two and your good again. But no one can deny that bit of fear that clutches the pit of your stomache everytime you hear that little demon buzzing around you..probably for the rest of your life.





Then there's the time when your goldfish dies. You tossed the ring around the coke bottle and picked "Butch" up at the county fair. Two days later he's belly up and your left with a full canister of fish-pellets (can't figure out what these are made of?). I cried.





Whether it's the half a dozen scraped knees or bee stings, or the couple of fishy tragedies, we've all, I'm sure, had our fair share of let downs and heart breaks. We are quick to grab the tub of ice cream and begin the healing process - usually.





But what I'm feeling is a less-than-eager sensation to heal. I actually, don't even like and can't even grasp the fact that I got hurt after all. Sure, this is the "denial" part, but when I guess that I'm in denial I realize that's a step in healing and I dig my heels into the ground all over again. This is a scary standstill and I keep trying to force time to move backward which HELLO, doesn't work. But I refuse to move forward as well.





Maybe some things aren't meant to move at all. It's like Old Hollywood. We can't go back to it, but we can't keep ourselves from moving forward. Instead it belongs in a snapshot, to be gazed upon and learned from incessantly.

Fluid

I get cranio-sacral therapy because I have possibly one of the most oddly designed body and health systems on the earth. Although that is a story in itself, the actual therapy is ridiculously fascinating, and as I laid there on the table, I had an hour long session to compare it to life itself, as I do, because I'm weird.

First things first, you are powerless. Laying horizontal on a table. No feet on the ground, no head in the clouds. The focus is the spinal column, spanning from the Sacrum to the Cranium, and the spinal fluid that flows between and around the column.

The therapy essentially checks in on the flow of that fluid, and unjams any vertebrae that may be holding up the flow. The lack of proper flow has a list of negative effects the length of the Great Wall, just know it's bad news.

I'm no doctor, but there is a certain part of your sacram where when tipped back, it opens up and lets a rush of fluid flow through the rest of the column. You then tip it back to be sure the fluid will rush back in - and thus you'd have an open gate - good health.

My gate opens wide open, and apparently has a great rush. But it won't close...it never sucks back the fluid. It dries up, and remains stagnant. Only rushes it out into the rest of the column....

Here I go being all philosophical. How much "fluid" or "energy" do I pour into everything except ME? And how equally long is that list of negative effects when my energy gate is closed?

One effect of poor spinal fluid flow - which I have witnessed, thank you spinal tap, I hate you - is literally a knock to the floor. You feel like your brain falls out of your head; you go out of your mind.

Tonight's Entertainment.

So here is my reflection on a phenomenon that I think occurs in part due to an awful High School experience, really low self esteem, and an early departure into the real world.

In a class of 30 eighteen year olds, I shiver and stutter through a 4 minute presentation on campus safety. Delivery is great, visual aid is killer, I know the topic upside down, and I'm feelin' good. So why is there a jawbreaker in my throat? That's 8am...

By 11am I'm at work. In a conference room with 10 forty year old millionares who are successful in what they do, really important, and could potentially make me a lot of money. I then proceed to pitch a project that could cost them hundreds of thousands of dollars, and I haven't even had my morning tea.

So I realize that TRUE: I have spent more time with 40 year old business men in my life than I have with peers, and TRUE: I am passionate about what I do and therefore more comfortable with speaking on it, and TRUE: teenagers tormented me all throughout high school, but...this is just a little too extreme to be called normal.

The room full of my peers (the eighteen year olds) are all there to learn and grow together. But for some reason, all I see and feel are 36 pairs of critical and analytical eyes, 18 brains picking apart every word I say, every hair on my head, every blemish on my skin and ever rag on my body, and one massive threat to my mental homeostasis.

Perhaps its the lack of expectancy that I feel in the room with the 40 year olds that serves to be more of a comfort. Perhaps it's that I know that they know what I'm capable of. Perhaps I'll never really put my finger on it. But what I have learned is this:

Behind each one of those faces, whether an eighteen year old face or a forty year old face, is a mind not belonging to you. They don't know your troubles, your insights, your experiences. A person is a person, and as long as you know yourself well enough to know where you stand, you won't think the person laughing is always laughing at you.

"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent". Eleanor Roosevelt.

Holler

http://vimeo.com/23285699

Thorough

By the time i was 6 1/2, I had mastered the fake smile. I knew how to kindly and respectfully answer any question asked of me, and I knew to always shake a hand firmly.

I've been such a little actress that i don't know what my real smile looks like; I don't know how to portray what I really feel like. I can take on any persona that I'd like, and mood or edge that I'd like. I don't know how to be natural, and honestly I'm afraid to know at all.

Socrates' whole philsophy that one must "know thyself". This means not only having the ability to stand firm in your values and priorities, but to know your strengths and weaknesses of character, and thus be able to act on them (or not).

What if we don't know what our real weaknesses are? Or our real strengths? What if we've been convincing others of something so long that we've convinced ourselves, but it's not actually the truth?

Heart

I'm getting some testing of my heart done.

Can't help but think the irony is terribly amusing, as serious as this situation is.

I've always said I'm heartbroken. And I've always said that the mind is capable of convincing the body of certain things. I never thought my mind would take it quite this far.

Shoes

I guess I'm feeling a little bit older.
I guess I'm feeling a little more at home.
I guess I'm finally settling, coming to terms with who I am and where I am.
Unpacked my shoes today, I've been living here three months.
I cried when I came across my unused, cold dance shoes.
They don't belong on the rack with all the others.
I was one space short, don't have a spot for my gillies.

It's cause they don't belong on the shelf.

Funny

Currently blowing my mind, is how quickly we let things escape us.

Really it's about how quickly we let things step out of our minds, even just briefly. The concept really just took a step to the left, and is still standing right next to you, you just can't see it. It's growing and festering and infected, and it's only when it bubbles over and leaks back into your space that you remember it's existence.

They're right next to you, because you won't let them get any farther. Subconsciously you're holding on with all your might, not wanting to cope or deal with the small cut, until it's infection forces you to bandage it, medicate, and make it heal.

Right now, I'm meeting these concepts. These festering issues standing all around me. I hate them, but I love them, which is why I never let them really leave. They're such a part of me, but they're so broken.

The more attention I'm paying to these concepts, the more they're stepping back into my own existence, and eating me alive.

My God Life Just Fascinates Me

good god...life just fascinates me.

Wanna know what I love? I love seeing veins emerge on the surface of skin. Faces, forearms...do you realize what that means?

Particularly interesting is when there's very little physicality involved, when those veins bare their fangs, it means that blood is boiling. It means that the juice flowing within you has come alive...playing off the triggers going off in your head.

For me, my dance lived in my veins. My heart beat with the pulse of the music....such passion I'll probably never know again. Thinking that even for a few minutes, someone else might be quite passionate enough about something...their heart pumps just so...that their blood begins to race, excited with intention and purpose...

Excited with intention and purpose..

Shhhhhhh

Always cold.
white truffles curl themselves up around the rim
arched backs, let the acid seep out, loose.
Lungs fill, plump; salt.
Get up, head on.
dead in the eye.

Blue Skies

Funny little thought this morning...thank you in advance for having a sense of humor about it.

I've got a big ol' skylight above my bed, which eagerly serves as a gateway to the heavens, (and less hypothetically put, an alarm clock, a night light, a thought provoker...).
This morning I woke to bright blue skies. No whisps of white, just thick blue, like the second coat of paint. Four hours later and it's cloudy, drizzling and honestly pretty miserable outside. But for some reason, in my head, it's still sunny and blue. Pause and cock head, pretending to understand my six foot deep meaning. Fascinating how the first few thoughts upon reentering the conscious state can have such an uncanny impact on the state of your consciousness for the rest of that period. It's still blue, in my head. And I've got a smile on my face.

The truth is

The truth is, I gave my heart away a long time ago. My whole heart. And I never really got it back.

You always hear people warning young people not to fall in love too quickly; not to give their heart to the first person that smiles at them. "Wise man said....."

How naive am I? Not only did I give it away at...say...age 7...

But I didn't even give it to a someONE. I gave it to a someTHING. a someFEELING.

The love of my life is something untangible. I can't kiss him. I can't hold his hand. I can't lay next to him and daydream under the sunlight seeping in from the window on a lazy sunday afternoon.

And that's why I try to fill that whole with millions of someones.

I got my heart broken. The only thing more unstable than a young girl falling for the first young man she meets, is a young girl falling for something that can't hold her back.

In typing this out...I keep wanting to describe this something as "something that doesn't have a heartbeat". "Something with no blood in it's veins". "Something that can't love me back".

But it wouldn't be accurate to describe it that way. Because it absolutely has a heartbeat. And mine became one with it. Every beat of that music.....matched the flow of the blood racing through my veins, which is where that something lived. It loved me back...it loved me back and it gave me everything it had. It created me, it taught me how to grow up, taught me how to live, taught me how to be a friend, a sister, a woman.

And when it ripped itself out of my life, I found that it had become a very large part of who I was, what my soul was made up of. And when it was gone....so was I.

So who am I kidding, pretending I'm protecting myself and saving my love for someone. Making the order a tall one so that I'll have an excuse when it's never filled. It's because there is no love left...there is no heart left.

Funny Things

It's kind of funny. Kind of ironic.

We get on this extended constancy of adrenaline in a situation and we just feel so resilient.

Emotions are nothing, physicality is nothing, you are just riding the wave and enjoying it all the while.

Then the wave curls and crashes and slurps up in it's foam and luster, and down you go.

All the emotions that you've been unknowingly repressing, and all the effects on your body all hit you at once. You're not invincible, resilience cannot be constant.

A good friend of mine told me that if you hold too many hands, you won't feel the hand in yours anymore.

I'm so tired, my strength in resiliency has warn thin. It's been years and years of not letting go. Masking, capping, pretending; and ya know what? He was absolutely right. I don't even feel the breathe on my neck anymore. What I do feel, is warn out, and empty. I've given so many little pieces of myself up trying to protect the whole. It's not until after the fact that that physics and mathematics of it all set in. Guess what? We are just parts that make up a whole.

And that's how it is. Little pieces of me...scattered all over the place. And you can't get them back which makes it even worse, I countered what I was trying to accomplish in the first place.

In fact, I cannot bend without breaking. Resilience is on a timer, and I'm not invincible. I'm not incapable, I'm many pieces of a whole, and I cannot keep pretending.

Remember that change I knew was coming?

Bam.

Change

There's this funny smell in the air.


A little bit thick, a little bit white. Clean and symmetrical.
I'm having growing pains.

I can feel my old skin peeling off my shoulders. That's just my battle scars.

I'm restless, I am young, I am on the edge of my seat.


Spring is coming, and it is bringing guests.

Tiger Woods Ya'll

What an eye opening day, and it's only 9:40AM.

I've spent the weekend bopping around the upstate area, and subsequently got caught in the biggest snowstorm of the winter. Joy.
Joy Joy Joy.

I have missed school, automatically dropping my grade down to no-better-than-a-B.
I am missing my gym workout and dance workout - hate.
I am missing work- hate - but most imperative of all, and therefore - hate alot.

Here's the funny thing though;
Thanks to technology, I am able to do quite a bit of my work from right where I am. (Currently, in bed under 3 quilts, happy as a clam, typing away.) Being "stuck" somewhere, actually forces you to sit down and be productive because guess what, there is zero distraction and you are unable to make excuses to do other things. This literal "stuck", isn't something that can easily be imitated in the home-setting, as your mind always knows the real truth.

So here I am, stressing over the drama that will ensue due to missing my usual Mondays, but beyond all that, actually being highly productive.

In a conversation with a co-worker over the anxiety I am feeling for my lack of presence today, he said to me, "Tiger Wood's Ya'll"...."don't worry about being stuck there and just hit your next shot where you are".

He's absolutely right. Getting so caught up in your situation; worry about what you CAN'T do because of your situation, will distract you from what you really CAN do. How brilliant and eye opening is that? If you quit being self-centered and stressing over what's going wrong, you'll forget to check out what you can make go right. Hard work is hard work, and if you're a truly hard worker you will make it happen.

So for today, forget it, forget it all. Get yourself down to the bare-bones truth and necessity of the situation.

Cheers!

Long Time Coming

Property of Leighann Kowalsky. All Rights Reserved.

The following is an account that has been a long time in the works. A long time bouncing around within the confines of my skull, taking on different shapes and words and rolling over the hills and leaps and bounds of emotion that each message takes before coming out through my finger tips and into this little cyber diary. What an image, right? Well in my head it's this silver shining light, but not like the light we all see when we die...more like the light you picture being on the lining of a dark cloud...that little slice of innocent hope, of pure, agape love. It curls around in these perfect little shapes, kind of like holding a curly fry up in the air and letting it naturally bounce down and hang there, the tendrils of my mind. It's like a child's night light...always there reminding you where you are when you wake up in a tantrum of sweat and ill unconscious dreams. I'm so scared to share this with you.

As much as I can, I try to understand why I do things. Why I think certain ways, why I behave certain ways. Why I fear what I fear, love what I love, you get the idea. But love is this little taboo emotion that I'm honestly very afraid of.

The fear is because I know that when I do fall in love, I will change irrevocably. I will be completely transformed and there will be no going back. It's a huge leap to take, and I'm so excited, so eager, so intimidated, and honestly afraid.

It's because I want my "one" to be my first everything. My first hike to climb up and see 5 states at the same time. My first passionate kiss in the rain. My first food fight in the kitchen after late night baking. I want every memory to be with my One. And I just simply don't want to share my memories with anyone else. I want to be able to lie in his arms and say, "nope, I've never done that before".

I read a book once that said every man you're ever with will stay in your memory forever. And honestly, I don't want to think of anyone else, even for a second, when I'm with my One. I don't want the memory of someone else to pop into my brain if I do something similar with my One. I want to write our story on clean paper, not paper with eraser marks and sketches and old news.

Giving someone all of you, becoming someone's other half is an ordeal. A process and not something to be taken lightly. I refuse to give any part of myself to anyone but him. Is that wrong?

He is a tall order, this One that I want. But he's out there, and I pray for him every day. I know it's selfish but I pray he's saving memories for me too.

Learning Daily

Property of Leighann Kowalsky. All Rights Reserved.

So I wrapped my head around a quality I've found within myself. I've yet to determine whether I admire or dislike said quality, but either way I am now moving forward, learning to embrace it; learning how to deal with it.

It has to do with men, which is sadly an overblogged, but under-understood category in a woman's life and it is disappointing to see the cliches and beginners mistakes being made over and over.

But I'm one of those beginners. And honestly we're all just trying to understand. To prepare, to protect, and to live.

It's usually pretty typical to put men into one of two categories. The one's that make it known that they care about the future and expect you in it. Examples include making plans far in the future, suggesting "life together" or hinting at you being present for an event years in the future. As intimidating and stupid as this description sounds, I can count on two hands the number of men who were thanking me, their darling wife, in their acceptance speech for the Nobel Peace Prize. Yes. Not kidding.

The second style of man is he who has no care at all for the future, pretends you don't exist, but is completely see-through in the long run. The kind who sweats and cringes for two days in between texting you just to be sure they're not being clingy and irritating. Good boy. BUT, why is it that I hate you, too?

Both of these categories are royal paints in the tucus, and I flee from both. But what is the in between? When dealing with Door Number 1, I find I'm wishing he was behaving like Door Number 2 and vice versa. Is it him? or is it really just me? IS there a happy balance anywhere? The man who internalizes his imagined future with me, but pretends life is fleeting? Does he even exist?

The more time I spend defining my romantic life; what I want, what I expect, how I act, and how he should act, the more I find I have an awfully tall order for a man. Hello sir, are you out there?

Habits

Sure, five years without riding a bike can feel like no time gone by at all once you get back into that seat. Same with alot of things; cooking, cleaning, crafts and habits.

With people, unfortunately, things just don't happen the same way.

I spent nearly every evening for two years with a boy who smelled like leather and horses. My dad and grandfather smelled like leather and horses. Talk about home sweet home. Although not entirely involved in a romantic sense, there was certainly "feelings" present beyond our best-friendship. We were eachothers, and I hoped it'd last. He's the first person, and only person I've met that I could call for anything, anytime; whether a shoulder to cry on or to help change a tire, and OH how I loved that security blanket.

After a strange falling out based on mis-communication and a jealous third party, we didn't speak for just over 2 years. And upon a hesitant reuniting recently, we found ourselves falling back into the same patterns that we had so lovingly relished in previously.

It was so easy to give my heart back over. To feel protected and secure again. To drink up the idea that my best friend was back, and we could retreat back to OUR time in OUR life.

Then he disappeared again. Poof, out of nothing. I thought I was the only one who could disappear out of someones life without so much as a trace. And there I was left standing once again, i felt like a 4 year old crying on the back porch in my nightgown. Gone.

I can jump back on a bike and ride no problem, sure. But you can't jump back into a friendship. or a relationship. or any sort of emotionally charged situation and not expect flaw. The two years spent apart? We walked away, with our backs facing eachother, and when I turned around two years later, nobody was there.

Loneliness

Property of Leighann Kowalsky. All Rights Reserved

Let's explore the term "alone" and the meaning behind the word "Loneliness".
There is without a doubt a negative connotation that I'd like to inhibit when it comes to applying it to my current emotions.

Any definition of these words will attest to that negativity, which is all well and good, but I for some reason am perfectly satiated as such. I thought that perhaps I had the wrong word in my head. Search synonyms. Wrong again, all have negative connotations.

Here's what I'm feeling, perhaps you can help me frame it, if in fact my alone-ness is simply not the right adjective.

I'm living alone now, apart from family. For the first time in my adult life I crave going "home". I am in solitude there, and I enjoy it. Quiet, peaceful, resting in my thoughts. Why is it that this typically bitter "alone" is so comforting?

So is that wrong? If alone-ness means "unhappy" (thank you dictionary) then is that wrong? Am I wrong?

Not my own.

I wish I could credit the author.

refusing to allow yourself to wither.

FINALLY

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I thought I would get up in the middle of class and hug the teacher right at that very moment.

I've been dreading for years math class, science class, anything class that decides that there is one answer to every question. My head just screams at me "NO! WHAT IF..." and proceeds to apply every question to a situation which disproves the idea that there is just one answer.

One teacher, in class, just the other morning, stated "There is no absolute. To everything, there is an obverse. It's the paradox of life"

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Fact of life, theme of mine, THANK YOU!, PROFESSOR!, for proving my own sanity to me with one statement.

There is no absolute, everything is so very moveable and changeable and every decision, answer and thought need to be thoroughly processed and applied to a very specific situation. Beyond thinking things through, it is unreal how important it is to know that there is more than one answer.

That is the art of life. The beauty. That is where we get to be individuals. Free will kicks in, in this little moment where you get to choose what's right for you. There is more than one "best way to do things". Beyond an openness to application and critical thinking, be open as well, to more than one right answer.

A friend of mine, currently, is struggling between two women. One whom he has toiled with for years. They know each other in and out, left and right, up and down. Fears, secrets, thoughts, dreams. There is a bond between "Johnny" and "Jill" that very few people understand or will ever experience. Admiration, appreciation and love all exist cohesively. You know exactly where I'm going with this.

Johnny's other "right answer" is June. Clean, fresh, new. They know little about eachother except what blurts our of their busy little thinking minds. But it feels right. It feels good, and maybe it doesn't even feel like love but it doesn't have to be. They fit together physically, emotionally, and mentally.

As an outsider, the situation is clear. But having dealt with similar emotions, I can understand Johnny's restraint. As human beings, we seek comfort. Homeostasis. Peace and quiet and we like what we know. However, like my memory box from the previous post, sometimes it's time to let go, even if you thought you never could. Sometimes it's time to about-face, and clean up. It's time for a new adventure.

In Addition

I'd like to make a statement based on my last post "Time Heals".

True, many things were trashed. I felt nothing, and I could scarce even recall ever having felt anything at all. HOWEVER.

There was a great deal that stayed in those cardboard boxes. That I ducktaped and in permanent marker, begged whoever may come across it someday to please take care and respect the privacy. The contents of that box...are priceless to me. They represent hours and years and tears and bloodstains on a dancefloor that essentially has built me, the person I am today.

In addition to the immense difference in feeling between what's in the trash bags and what's in the cardboard box, there is additionally, immense fear that I might one day lose the passion I have toward those memories. I do not ever wish to forget the wild ride I survived.

Time Heals.

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I'll admit, I haven't given nearly enough thought to the idea that "Time Heals All" to neither disagree nor agree with the statement. One thing I do know, however, is that I now have blatant evidence that it at least heals...a little.

I'm moving out of my home. I'm getting a new office...everything is changing. This makes for a great deal of organizing/de-cluttering and just generally taking an overview of my stuff. Essentially, widdling it down to what is truly necessary. I've already tossed 3 bags of "memories" that I had kept in a box for the last 4 years. I didn't feel a thing.

here's where it gets juicy.

4 years ago, I couldn't part with this stuff. These photographs, these love letters, these old baggy t-shirts that represent a weekend away...packed up neatly and with care and sealed with a kiss, only to become bonfire fodder 4 years later.. Perhaps my situation is particular thanks (and no thanks) to the traumatic experiences I had through my childhood, but either way, I couldn't even remember feeling tied to these THINGS. No matter what it is, these things I once gripped with all my might? I don't need those anymore. No need to clog the brain, to hold onto the past...I have healed enough to let it go.

It feels good, walking forward. Taking steps, feeling a few pounds lighter without the weight of damp memory on my back. I may not be all healed up, all better boo boo, but Time certainly heals. At least enough to let us move on for a while, push forward, and make space for new memories.

Barriers

I'd like to say I've been blessed with the experience of men from many places. Judge away, it's not the way it sounds.

However, I've recently connected with someone who takes the foreign cake. South America is far. It's hot. It's seasons are reversed from mine. Culture is different, Language is different, and I'm familiar with 0% of it. Honestly, I couldn't even spell Buenos Aires previously. The language barrier was something undeniable. Communicating has never been an issue for me, in my whole life. So for the first time, there was a frustration that was a different color, and the newness and freshness of this color made it addictive. (Yeah, I'm freaky, whatever.) I found the need to explore.

I'm reading "The History of Love" by Nicole Kraus ( recommend!) and apart from being fantastic, at one point it depicts the world before there was words. People would communicate with their hands. Every flick of a pinky finger, every degree of a bend meant something. Communication was at a high calibur and has yet to reach that level today, even with words. This reminded me greatly of ancient japanese dance known as "dengaku" or "seragaku" which is literally one person, on stage, almost in complete stillness. The tip of the head downward ever so slightly means the character is mourning. It's simplistic and involved intermittently and is really quite challenging.

Before there were words, people communicated. Words are a tool, not a necessity. I have learned through my new friend, that I can see what he means in his eyes. In the way he smiles at me I can tell exactly what he's thinking. His motives, his dreams, his hopes. I can read the stress of the day in the lines on his face, and I can watch them fade as we laugh at each other in advancing the night. Potentially effective is the color his voice makes. It matches certain emotions and thus I can get a sense for what he's trying to say. I've learned a valuable lesson, having always been a talker/communicator extraordinaire; communication has nothing to do with words after all, and barriers are only barriers if you let them hold you back.

Death

Oooh. The title of this post even has a spookier-than-usual twang to it. I guess it's just because I happen to be surrounded by the haunting monster that is death lately. After having written death as a "haunting monster" I don't want to backspace, but I do rescind that statement. It's only a haunting monster if you're not ready for it. More on that later.

Anyone who pays attention to, or pays attention to someone who pays attention to someone who watches the news can tell you there have been some eerie group deaths among birds and fish. One friend of mine stated "Birds and Fish...yeah, but the humans are actually doing pretty well!" I tend to disagree. In the last week, here's my list:

My grandmother, Anna Satoris.
My mothers best friend's brother.
My Time Warner Cable rep's sister in law.
My good friend Mons' grandfather.
My co-worker's Great Grandmother
My co-worker's Uncle.
My other co-worker's grandfather.
Lady-At-The-Gym-With-Cute-Shirt's undefined relative.

Granted 7 is no 1000 fish, but isn't a human life of slightly more worth? And why are they all so close to me?

A few months ago a family friend died of Cancer. She was in her 50's, with two children who both recently were married. Lived a good life, but deserved to live even longer. Upon her death, the envy I felt of her was unnerving. I was I jealous of someone dying? How cynical is that? After some self-observing and self-questioning and all of that inner-thinking business, I came to the conclusion that I was tired. I was tired, and somehow satisfied with life already. Or rather, complacent. (Figured that feeling out- and accepted it; since overcoming the envy of death by discovering how much of the world I have yet to discover.)

Despite my minor accomplishment in understanding feelings regarding death, there are still questions. The rant I'm on lately is that of the world simply being desensitized to death. My sister and I both have yet to cry over my grandmothers' death. She lived with us for 6+ years. Practically raised us. But to me at least, she died years ago. Her mind has been deteriorating, and I've already accepted her death..before it even happened. This disgusts me! It's selfish to want to mourn quickly and move on. What about honor? and celebration of her life? It's also disgustingly modern to be moving quickly about anything at all. Do we really appreciate life anymore?

More on this, I'm sure.

Up

Property of Leighann Kowalsky. All Rights Reserved.

We've all heard of 'poetic license', correct? When William Shakespeare would make-up or combine or change the syllable structure to fit into his format? Well I think today's day and age needs to take license beyond that of poetry (which we're not even doing properly anymore, goodness), and take license of life.

My mom always used to tell me" Buy those shoes!" Meaning; sure, we are in financial ruin. You're father has blown his entire retirement and we're holding onto our home by our cracking fingernails. BUT, those shoes are too darn cute, buy them. Similarly, "Eat that cake!" or simply "Do It Anyway". It's a short way of expressing the fact that nobody gets out alive, and we only live once, and it's short as an exhale, so why not spend more time enjoying things like cake and shoes than worrying over dimes and calories?

An old Irish Rock Band used to have a song called "Do It Anyway".
One line is as follows:
"You're scared to tell the world what you're doing here? Do it anyway."

I want to let the world know that I am here.

A Toast

I'm already beginning to see a pattern and theme to this new year, 2011, and we are only 6 days into it. Good Lord what a whirlwind this will be.

Whether just before the new year, or currently on the horizon, I am witnessing many "firsts".


A few weeks ago I journeyed to Mexico. Not the first time out of the country, but the first time to a third world country, and the first time out of the country without parents. First time at an All-Inclusive Resort, and first time jet-skiing in the ocean. In the Spring, I'll roam to Europe, just for fun, and Vegas for my birthday - you guessed - for the first time.

I noticed it this morning when I called my mom excitedly just to tell her about my ski-trip weekend planned for New Hampshire. My "First" all weekend ski-trip. I felt naive and just about every other synonymous word, but ya know what? Here's to feeling like a kid again. Here's to firsts, and here's to trying everything. Here's to being a 20-something and recognizing that I have alot to learn, and alot to experience.

I've always felt like I grew up quickly. Went on my first working tour when I was 15, and etiquette school all the years before that. I could tell you the proper grooming habits of a German French Poodle and what's going on at the root of a wavy-haired beauty, and why her hair isn't pins and needles straight instead. But 2011 will be about finally being a kid, and I'd like to toast to that. Here's to having the maturity to know that it's OK to be immature sometimes.

Pity

I have a diamond pendant necklace. It was a gift, and it is beautiful.
Resting on a sterling silver chain, it bobbles and sways around my neck with ease.

I recently noticed that there had formed a knot in the chain, preventing the diamond to either slip off the chain and onto a new one, and was instead containing the diamond between clasp and knot.

I thought I would cry.

The only way to free that perfect little diamond would be to break that perfect little chain.
Having to choose between two articles of purity and simplicity and...pretty-ness.
Two articles that each on their own are just not quite enough, but together create this specific harmony. And to seperate them again? One would have to break, and be left without use, without purpose; to be tossed aside.