Music

I write. Even before I could write, I told stories. (One of the best things anyone ever said to me was when my older sister pointed out how I used to tell stories before I learned to write -- and how she and her friends used to ask me to make them up for them.)

But, I think in pictures. Most of my writing comes from describing the images in my brain.

And, I need music. I can't think (much less write or do anything creative) if I don't have music playing in the background.

I love making soundtracks -- for road trips, for particular periods in my life, for the stories I'm writing, for friends. A friend of mine once told me that a friend of hers told her that every time you hear a new song for the first time, you evolve. I don't know if there's any actual science behind that, but I love the idea. I love sharing new music with people and hearing new songs for the first time.

And maybe all of this is partly why I was so psyched when my friend Nora asked me to participate in her project to make a video for Guster's "Bad, Bad World." (I normally avoid having my picture taken at all costs. Nine years later, my sister still rants about how I'm not in "any" of her wedding pictures...which is an overstatement. I'm in some. Just not a lot.)

So, please go here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BfBmHiMoNd8
If you have a YouTube account, sign in and "like" the video by clicking on the thumbs up. (If you don't have a YouTube account, stop being a slacker and create one. It takes less than two minutes.) You should help Nora win, because she is awesome, because her idea was awesome, and because it's one small thing you can do to decrease world suck.

Shortly after I helped film this video with Nora, my grandboss (that's my boss's boss, get it?) sent me the link to this video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=REo7VnlenOA with the lyrics to the song. He said some of the images and lyrics made him think of me -- and it almost made me totally lose it right there in my cubicle when I read his words, the lyrics, and listened to the song.

I've been trying to do some writing for most of today and I haven't accomplished much. Usually when I get stuck, I make a collage. Collages help me think -- don't ask why; I don't know.

Tonight, instead of making my typical collage, I played with some lyrics from some songs I've been listening to a lot. I don't know what I'd do without music; I don't want to know.

Here's my texty alternative to a collage:

It's empty in the valley of your heart. I am still not getting what I want. I'm coming apart at the seams. The sun, it rises slowly as you walk away from all the fears and all the faults you've left behind. There's no turning back for us tonight. 'Cause I need freedom now, and I need to know how to live my life as it's meant to be. Are you looking for an answer? It gets so lonely. I'm here. Hold on to me. I'm right here waiting. It's too late to save me. You're too late. Doc, there's a hole where something was. Things aren't the same anymore. Some nights it gets so bad, I almost pick up the phone. I could really use a friend tonight. I cannot live, I can't breathe, unless you do this with me. Please stay until I'm gone. Well, I'm a wreck, I really can't explain it. I can't explain a thing. I'm so lost. I'm barely here. I wish I could explain myself but words escape me. I wish you could remind me who I was, because every day I'm a little further off. I keep telling myself I'm not the desperate type. Wish that I was as invisible as you make me feel. I would gladly stay an afterthought, just bring back some nice reminders. 'Cause I have other things to fill my time. You take what is yours and I'll take mine. Now let me at the truth, which will refresh my broken mind. I'm a loose bolt of a complete machine. But I will hold on hope. May you dream you are dreaming in a warm, soft bed. May the voices inside you that fill you with dread make the sounds of thousands of angels instead. And I'll find strength in pain. I swear I didn't mean for it to feel like this, like every single inch of me is bruised. I wanna have the same last dream again. The one where I wake up and I'm alive. I'd promise you anything for another shot at life. I'll know my name as it's called again. Boycott love. It only takes a heart to be heard. You will be fine.


The songs quoted are:

"(Coffee's for Closers)" - Fall Out Boy
"7 Minutes in Heaven (Atavan Halen)" - Fall Out Boy
"The Pros and Cons of Breathing" - Fall Out Boy
"Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes" - Fall Out Boy
"GINASFS" - Fall Out Boy
"Astronaut" - Amanda Palmer
“Nobody’s Crying” – Patty Griffin
"Bruised" - Jack's Mannequin
"Soundtrack for Our Movie" - Mae
"Almost Everything" - Wakey!Wakey!
"Check Yes, Juliet" - We the Kings
"Save a Place" - 1969
"The Adventure" - Angels & Airwaves
"Not Now" - blink-182
"Stockholm Syndrome" - blink-182
"The Cave" - Mumford & Sons

Butterflies

The words below I am completely stealing from a blog written by Jamie Tworkowski for his organization To Write Love on Her Arms:

i am impressed by people who are honest and kind. i am inspired by moments of vulnerability, moments of confession and compassion, moments where someone makes it clear that they are a person in need of other people and someone else makes it clear that the first person is not alone.

....Be loved. Be known. Love people and know people. Be so brave as to raise a hand for help when you need it. Make friends and make sure they know they matter. Be loyal to them and fight for them. Remind them what’s true and invite them to do the same when you forget. If you do some losing or you walk with someone else in their defeat, live with dignity and grace. It is a middle finger to the darkness.



I was talking to my shrink yesterday about my oddness, which some people even call crazy. (It's nice to have a licensed clinical psychologist who has been assessing you for a year and a half confirm that you, most definitely, are not crazy.) She said my whimsy is very life-affirming. She said this several times. (In fact, she agreed that I'm a lot like Luna Lovegood.)

I never really appreciated butterflies until I visited two butterfly gardens in the span of a couple of weeks last February and March. In the second garden, two separate butterflies landed on me (one right on my DFTBA tattoo). So, now I equate butterflies with peace and love and a connection to those who are gone (mostly because of a legend a volunteer in the second butterfly garden told me). And that is why I've been making origami butterflies lately -- why I cover them with inspiring words (many stolen from Jamie's blogs) or hide important messages inside them. I'm using the butterflies as my messengers, just like the Blackfoot Indians saw real butterflies as messengers to and from the spirit world.

Reading Jamie's blog this morning made me think of butterflies....

Magic

...what he felt in its place, the truth, was inadequate. How could he say he'd become a magician because he felt abandoned once in a lonely house? How he'd returned to soothe abandoned women? How he'd fought off loneliness so many times by picking up a deck of cards that now it was simply rote? That if he weren't a magician, he'd be nothing much at all? "It's a way," he murmured, "of turning back the darkness."

"Excuse me?" Her face contorted. "Excuse me very much?"

"What I mean is, the world is an awful place, isn't it? Magic makes it less awful for a moment or two." He felt like he'd torn away a bandage, and confirmed that an old wound was indeed still there. "If I can shake the world off a man's shoulders, I feel better."

All over Bernie Simon's features, lights were dimming and doors politely closing.

"I mean," he rallied, "there's joy and wonderment to be had. I love to perform. It fights back the loneliness. It's all I really know how to do anymore."

- Glen David Gold, Carter Beats the Devil

Keep Working on Love

Yes, it's redundant to title a blog post the same thing as the blog itself, but so it goes.

So, Wednesday was a very bad day. I had been feeling pretty miserable all day, and then I just totally melted down at the end of practice. And on the drive home. It was just a mess. But, Thursday was better. And Friday was actually okay. I thought of my mom a lot (obviously), but in good ways. I kept myself pretty distracted, and I finally got the tattoo I've been wanting for months -- the seagull pictured on the right hand side of this page and the word "Love."

"Keep working on love" -- those words haunt me. It seems like no one in this whole world is exempt from that idea. We could all do more to show others love, to love ourselves, to be loving and kind and gracious.

I did some writing today (finally!) and it started with reviewing comments my friend Em made on a couple of chapters. One of her comments was about how my narrator has two sides, "the totally cynical, sarcastic I-can-take-this side, and then this other, completely vulnerable I'm-trying-to-stay-small-so-you'll-love-me side." It kind of killed me to read that comment, because she's right on. (And I'm not just talking about the assessment of my narrator.)

I like to think of myself as really straightforward and direct and easy to read -- I think I am all of those things most of the time. (If I'm not directly expressing what I'm thinking, I will more than likely tell you if you ask. There are precious few things that I hold back completely to myself.) And yet, at the same time, I've found that there are A LOT of people who just don't get me. And not just because I'm weird (which I fully admit I am) but because they don't understand me or the things I've tried to express.

I had this epiphany last week about why I hate it so much when people call me strong. It's because I didn't choose it. I never asked to be. I have just clung from moment to moment to moment to survive. Many, many people see that person -- the one who has crawled through the last couple of years and can still smile and crack a funny joke every once in a while. Fewer see the "trying to stay small" side, even though I think that side is so much more obvious, exposed. Maybe even more real. More me.

I've got to keep this ointment on my new tattoo for a few days, and it's getting all over everything. Just now, I had to change my shirt because I had this greasy stain in a rather suggestive place. This happens a lot. Not because I grope myself a lot, but because I frequently wrap my arms around my middle and then lean forward. I do it without even thinking about it. And, I realize, it's sort of like hugging myself. (Staying small.)

I had this mission to exploit every opportunity for fun and happiness on Saturday, and I think I accomplished most of that. I slept most of Sunday away. Today, the sadness is starting to creep in again -- I've exhausted all the plans, all the distractions. It's time to remember, again, that I am motherless. This is how I will be for the rest of my life.

I keep myself insanely busy these days (in fact, right now I'm running behind on meeting a friend for dinner before practice) -- part of that is certainly about distracting myself. But part of it is about working on love -- about appreciating every moment I have with the people who make me feel happy, who make me laugh, who make me feel loved.

You know it's bad when...

• you contemplate making yourself reminders so you don't put your underwear on inside out. Again.
• you stop threatening to run away and go live in a cave and instead start seriously considering employment in Zambia.
• skating doesn't help. Not even a little.
• neither do the superhero socks.
• you don't care that you smell horrific and you're wearing gnome jammie pants -- you go to the grocery store at 9 p.m. to get yourself some ice cream and Magic Shell because you need it.
• even though you need the ice cream and Magic Shell, you don't want it, so you put them away without even a little taste. And you really don't care.
• while listening to Taking Back Sunday, instead of screaming along, you find yourself crying.
• you wish you could just stop being you for a few days and then you realize you aren't the you that you used to be and you're wondering who you are now and how you got here and where you go next.

Today was definitely a bad day. Tomorrow is Nemesis Day. And then Friday -- the one-year anniversary (which is semi-redundant, isn't it?) of my mom's death -- will probably be completely and utterly miserable beyond the telling. But, then it has to get better, right? Because by then I will have made it through the year without it killing me. (And I hope this means there will be feasting and dancing in Jerusalem next year....)

And, if not, there's always getting furiously happy out of spite.

Joy Trumps Nemesis

Today is the 51st Thursday since my mom died. Throughout the last 51 weeks, I have repeatedly grumbled about how I fucking hate Thursdays (as opposed to Arthur Dent, who just could never get the hang of them) and have dubbed Thursday my nemesis. Nemesis Day is what I've called it.

But, today, something magical happened.

Joy won out.

See, my incredibly awesome friend Nora sent an email to a select group of people on Facebook. And it was pretty cool just to be included in this group. But then I read about the project she wanted to undertake and, I'm not gonna lie, I got a little giddy. (Okay, okay, I got a lot giddy.)

Because Nora wants to bring people joy, which reminded me of my mission to chase down joy and as I re-read that list of 200+ things that bring me joy, Nemesis Day started to suck less. A lot less.

And then I listened to this song (because it's part of Nora's joy project) and it kind of screwed Nemesis Day's chances of making me miserable today.

My friend Holly posted this anonymous quote as her FB status earlier today: "Never give up on something that you can't go a day without thinking about." To me, that ties right back into joy, too. (I mean, you really SHOULD give up on something you can't go a day without thinking about if it doesn't bring you joy, because who needs that kind of misery?)

It doesn't take much to make a difference in someone's life. Just a small act of kindness, an affirmation of love, an attempt to share joy.

So, huge thanks to Nora for making that difference in my life today (especially this particular Nemesis Day).

"Hope less and do more / Say less and feel more"

- Dog's Eye View, "Last Letter Home"

Talk about a weird day.

I had a meeting this morning with some IT people I've known for about a year and a half via email and phone, but never met in person before. On the one hand, it was sort of like peaking behind the curtain at the great and powerful Oz. My observation was this: In real life, people are just weird.

I discovered this strange sore on my belly about a week and a half ago and it totally freaked me out because I didn't know where it came from and I thought it might be MRSA or GAS or some other flesh-eating type of thing. I wore a skirt to work today, which meant I had to clip my ID badge to my wasteband (when I wear pants, I clip it to my pocket). As I often notice when I wear skirts, the edge of the clip of my ID badge was poking me in an uncomfortable way. ...And then it finally dawned on me -- THAT is where the sore came from! (I then clipped my badge to a lanyard to resolve the problem.)

I left work early, because I had to drive an hour to my vet's to pick up prescription cat food and Thyroid meds. All day I've been saying I need to get a vet closer to where I live now, but it's hard. I like my vet. The main partner in the practice was very good to my Emmett when he almost died from a blocked urethra four years ago. And one of the other vets is awfully nice to look at. (Of course, I'd completely forgotten about her until I was on my way out and saw her name on the door. This just goes to show how distracted I am.)

I am insanely distracted. Distractable. On another planet. I'm not sleeping well, not eating fabulously, and my memory is shot. It's just like right after Mom died. I guess that's because this time last year I was getting the worst sleep of my life, watching my mother seize, changing her diapers, filling out paperwork for Medicaid to have her put in a nursing home (the card came the day after she died). I miss my mom. So much so that I wrote her another letter over the weekend while I was staying in her house.

Part of it goes like this:

I find myself still really spacey about things -- not recognizing people who recognize me, not remembering details I should/used to remember -- because there's still so much to process. The last two years are kind of a blur -- the last year with you was so hard, and then this past year without you has been mostly a nightmare.

The odd thing, of course, is that I know I am a better person now than I was a year ago. The last 24 hours of your life changed me in deep, dark, permanent ways. I know more about who I am, what I'm willing to do, the costs of the choices we make, but I also know that life is fleeting and that you have to be willing to take some risks if you ever expect to get what you want. In fact, I've come around to the conclusion that you don't deserve happiness if you aren't willing to work for it -- you can't just sit by and expect life to drop the things you want in your lap. Maybe that works for some people, but not people like us.

Can you tell I've been looking at my tattoo a lot lately?

I've been trying to let it do its job, to remind me that every, every second is important and that it's worth the pain of humiliation or rejection or loss (or even a little physical pain) to go after the things that are important to you.

It's still hard.

Everything is so hard.

Tonight I did something I think was incredibly brave. It didn't turn out the way I'd hoped, but it could have gone a lot worse. But, what matters most, is that I took a chance. (Especially because it scared me so much I was afraid I was going to hyperventilate.)

Shortly after Garden State (my favorite movie) came out, Zach Braff said this:

What Garden State's really about is how short life is. And how we get caught up in so many entanglements and insecurities and worries and obsessions and trivial arguments while life races right by us shaking its head at how seriously we take ourselves. Keep in mind that the sun's gonna burn out in about a million years and truly nothing will have mattered.

He's right. I'm still working on not taking things so seriously and not getting caught up in my insecurities and all the worries. I'm better at it than I used to be, and that's something. It's progress.

My life feels so out of control lately -- too much going on at work (so, of course, I volunteered for this TA project in Zambia that may end up with me going to Africa in the spring) and at home and I never have enough time to write (so much for that plan to have the book done by the end of the year....) and my cats are really cranky about barely ever seeing me. And, even though I often feel like I can't breathe from the spinning of the earth, I think I'm starting to let it just spin without worrying so much about trying to control how and where it spins. Because the truth is, I don't really have that kind of power anyway. It's going to go where it goes. I may as well just enjoy getting there.

My little shiny blue car passed 100,000 miles tonight. So many of those miles were earned during the darkest, saddest, hardest times in my life. But, many of those miles were passed while I was having grand epiphanies, too -- figuring out who I am and what I want.

My shrink was so incredibly right on the money when she called me action-oriented. "Hope less and do more. Say less and feel more." Those are some of the best words of advice I've ever heard.

And, one of the best wishes I've ever heard:
"May the voices inside you that fill you with dread make the sounds of thousands of angels instead." (from Patty Griffin's song "Nobody's Crying.")

That is what I wish for me and for you. DFTBA.

None of us can stand alone all of the time.

People I have loved profoundly have tried to kill themselves or seriously considered it. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if I don't know about all the suicide attempts or suicidal thoughts of my loved ones. I know a lot of people don't talk about it.
Here's the thing, though: No one -- no matter how strong, no matter how vivacious -- can stand alone all of the time. It's just not possible to make it through this life completely on your own. There is no shame in asking for help when you need it. (If you were falling off a cliff, barely holding on by your fingers, and someone happened by the ledge -- wouldn't you call out for a hand?) There is no weakness in accepting help when it is offered. (If you saw someone hurting, wouldn't you want to help, if you could?)

The simple truth is this: You deserve to feel okay about yourself and your life. Yes, you. And you. And you. And you. All of us.

Some of us struggle with depression more often than others. Some of us experience it in more challenging ways. Some of us are possessed by an overwhelming desire to physically inflict our inner pain on our bodies. If you don't want to talk to the people in your life who love you, talk to people who have trained and studied to offer strategies for dealing with these situations.

Would you think less of a person with diabetes who needs to take insulin to process the sugars in her body? Why is there such stigma associated with people who need medications to process their emotions in a healthy way?

If you saw someone with a swollen, bruised ankle that couldn't support her weight, wouldn't you recommend getting an X-ray? Why is there such resistance to seeking a therapist to help heal the wounds in our hearts and heads?

It's not just okay to ask for help when you need it. It's your job. No one can do it for you. You owe it to yourself and the people who love you. If you think they will be better off without you, you're wrong. There is no pain like grief. It's the worst thing you could purposely inflict on someone you care about.

Tomorrow is World Suicide Prevention Day. Suicide is the 11th leading cause of death in the U.S., but there are places to go for help:

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-TALK

HopeLine: 1-800-784-2433

Genius

"True genius is never recognized in its own time."
"Except by the one who has it."
- Michael Chabon, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay


Most of my friends will tell you I'm smart. (My mom always said I was book-smart but had no common sense. The truth, I think, lies somewhere in between.) I was an honor student; school came pretty easy to me; I learn some things (especially if it has to do with memorizing stuff) quickly. In some ways, I'm pretty smart. In other ways, I'm dumber than a box of hair. (And, I don't know why, but I love that phrase.)

But, the thing that irks me is that most people do not recognize my genius. I have these brilliant ideas from time to time and when I express them, people look at me like they're trying to decide what size rubber room would be adequate to contain me.

For example: Sunblock. I think that someone needs to come up with a type of no-tears sunblock (that is key) that goes on very brightly colored (and should be available in a variety of colors) so you can see if you've missed a spot. The pigment in the sunblock will temporarily dye your skin, fading as the sunblock's protection fades -- when you're back to your normal color, you need to get out of the sun or reapply. I still think it's genius. My friends, not so much.

I've just finished reading Suzanne Collins's Mockingjay for the second time, after re-reading its two predecessors. In these books, there is at least one character who dyes her skin green. I bet Suzanne Collins would like my sunblock idea.

But I digress.

The main character in Collins's books is a girl named Katniss Everdeen. In all three books, this girl is openly mocked for not noticing the effect she has on people (specifically two boys, but others, too). She has no idea that these two boys are deeply in love with her -- has missed it completely. Even when they tell her, she's pretty clueless.

In the books, people find this both endearing and annoying. Some would say she's insanely dense. Me, I can relate.

It's not that I have people pining away for me. It's just that I am hopeless when it comes to flirting. I never realize it's happening until someone else points it out to me. I recently told a story to three different friends and at the end of it, they all concluded that the guy in the story was flirting with me. When my first friend came to this conclusion, I thought she was seeing something that wasn't there. When my two other friends came to the same conclusion, I realized I have a problem. This is not the first time someone has flirted with me and I've missed it.

So, here's my genius idea: All flirting should be preceded by the announcement, "Let the flirting commence." Then there's no possible confusion.

Right?

Why do I feel like I'm going to get about as much support for this idea as I did for my ideal sunblock? Too bad Katniss doesn't really exist; I bet she'd be on my side....

Dreams

I wrote myself an email this morning to transcribe the dream I had right after I woke up:

I went to bed thinking about misadventures, plotting places and pictures. So I guess it stands to reason that I would dream of my mom. I had also been thinking about derby regionals, and earlier in the day had been making plans to meet a friend from derby, so I guess it stands to reason that in my dream, I'd be trying to get to a meeting with my derby wife. At first, I was early. So, I wandered around this giant, sprawling mall. Then, in the dream, I had to pee, so I wandered through this place that had a glass floor. I was terrified to step on the glass floor (and see the stories and stories below), so I walked the edges, where there was marble and I could pretend I didn't feel like I was going to fall. Once to the place where I could pee, my mom was there (but she was younger - high school maybe?) and she was doing some kind of performance art. And, suddenly, I became the artist that she was visiting and I decided to sculpt her, but as a kitten. (In my dream, my mom as an adult was narrating and she said this really happened and that she was letting me recreate the sculpture. She also said I'd never get over the fear of open glass floors and that that was okay.) I made the sculpture and although it was still very soft, I handed it to her to look at. She reshaped it a bit, so the kitten's head was all tucked into its body, the ways cats do. And then I realized I was 15 minutes late to meet Rehab. But, on my way to meet her, I realized that some bad guy had vandalized the place where I'd left my laptop (I guess the one I have from work?) and other things. All that was left was the fabric jewelry box my mom made me when I was a kid, on display, like a message. I was about to say, "What does it mean?" (yes, like the double rainbow guy) when I think I woke up.

I miss my mom every day. Lately, I've been remembering how bad things were last September, and it makes me remember things I don't want to remember, and miss her even more. Dreams like that seem nice enough, but they rattle me. I can't explain it any better than that -- just that I feel very jarred when my mom shows up in my sleep. Especially because it happens so infrequently.

I spent most of today with two very good friends, and there's something bizarre about the way the three of us connect, we just always have an incredible time together. Maybe it's partly to do with the fact that each time we get together, it involves a misadventure with my mom's ashes. Maybe it's partly to do with the fact that each misadventure is about not accepting the status quo and not doing what other people think/say/expect you to do, but instead following your heart and doing what makes sense to you. Just you.

It's been such an effort to remember all the lessons I've learned from my mom's death, but I try to practice them every day: tell people I think of them; tell people what I think of them; choose happiness and wonder; chase down joy; never settle; do what makes sense to you; don't forget to be awesome; love love love -- keep working on love.