Saturday, May 28, 2011

Advertise this.

So here's my arm. Look, I still have some freckles...I kinda thought most of those went away.
And what you're looking at is my scar. I've had other scars, and those have faded for the most part, unless you knew exactly where to look...but this one...well...the doctor even said I will most likely not see it go away. It will probably always be there with me.

Sometimes, when I'm somewhere fancy or dressed nicely, or at a job interview...situations like that...I become really really self-conscious about it.  For one, it's pretty prominent. Even moreso than the picture would lead you to believe. Sometimes when I'm nervous, when I've been working out, or random other things that get blood flowing to the area, it gets red and is even more noticeable. It's raised and you can feel it easily if you touch my arm. And quite frankly, it looks a bit like a scar you'd see on someone who was a cutter. And while people that really know me wouldn't think that, sometimes I wonder if that's what people see when they see it.

Sometimes, on better days, I look at it and I smile. On the good days, I'm actually proud of this scar.  That seems like a damaged point of view, doesn't it?  But the truth of the matter is this: This scar is from the first day I lived in New Mexico. It happened when I was moving boxes around in Los Alamos. I thought it was just the box that cut me, but in retrospect, I don't know that cardboard could cut quite that deep, so it may have been a staple in the box.  The weird thing was, I didn't feel it. I think that was a combination of fatigue and altitude and complete emotional chaos. Steve just told me I was bleeding, and when I looked down, I definitely was.  I remember being a little shocked that I was bleeding that *much*.  It didn't want to stop right away either.  Many months later at the ER for something completely unrelated the doctor saw this scar and told me I should have gotten stitches for it.  I didn't have insurance and I sure as hell didn't want my first day in the state to be at a hospital/er/clinic. So...once the bleeding stopped, I let it go. I actually got to watch it heal.  It closed itself up...little filaments would bridge across the sides, it would scab up, that would fall away, and then more bridges, more scabbing, more falling away.  Eventually, it settled in to what it is now.  I know it's a little gross to think about, but it's also kind of amazing the way the body can actually stitch itself up, if given a chance.

And on a good day, I'm proud of it, because it stands for so much for me.  You can't look at me and see the sleepless night in Libertyville before I left.  You can't see me on the hotel bed the first night of the drive, trying to coax Ana out of her cage, watching her little body shake in fear and feeling awful for scaring her and uprooting her, and realizing I felt the same. I called Pastor Lynn from the hotel room that night, and as soon as he spoke I fell apart. I sobbed until my body shook. Afraid, sad, so much wanting a hug from him or my mom, not sure what on earth I was doing or if I should do it. He told me it was ok to be scared and that he loved me. I managed a thank you and cried til I felt like I couldn't breathe. But I washed my face off, and I watched the dirt (how I got that dirty on the road I don't know) swirl down the drain, and I got past it.  And I drove, and when I crossed the border and I started to see the red rocks rising out of the flatness, you couldn't have taken that smile from me no matter what you did.  It was literally 100 degrees and i just wanted to fling the doors open, get out of the car and run until I couldn't run anymore.  And when I see that scar on my arm, I remember that I got it doing something that not everybody will ever do, or can do.  That that's from when I changed my life and followed my heart, and that it ISN'T something everyone will do or can do. Sometimes, that scar reminds me of my strength.

The truth is, tonight isn't a good night. Tonight, the various scars I've collected in my life are red and inflamed. And I'm having trouble seeing beyond that.  Right now, I'm seeing the walls I've built. The way that I'm erasing the good that that scar does me. Because I don't feel brave.  I feel like I can't say what I need to say.  There's people that I should stand up to, there's mistakes I've made that make me feel disgusted. I feel like I can give all this good energy and care and I'm completely giving it to people who don't care and will never even have the capacity to reciprocate, and I'm keeping it from someone who does because I'm afraid to get hurt.  Because I can't remember right now that I have the capacity to heal and grow past it. That it will close up and fall away. That the glaring white I see as ugly is new skin where there was damage. And I want to go past that. I don't want to sit here and feel misdirected, sad or lonely. But if I was being honest, that's how I feel. And I'm not letting the wound heal over, but I know I want to.  I always saw people who couldn't get past the things that hurt them and I felt bad, because I knew there was so much in them, that they had the capacity to just...be so happy and so loved, if they'd let themselves.  And now? Every so often I look in the mirror, on a bad day, and I'm that person.

And that? I don't want to be. I want to always see those scars as strength, and capacity to heal.
So this is me, trying to write a bridge across the wounds that hurt tonight.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Transitions

I'm a little amused at my own nature sometimes. For example, I really do love doing new things, going new places, trying out new things...
But I *suck* at the transition period.
Even more amusing, when I write, I suck at the intro.  And maybe nobody is laughing except me right now, that's ok.  I laugh out of frustration and I guess that self-acknowledgement that comes with it. Some people trip and fall and stub their toes all the time...oh wait, I do that too... and some people love the new but hate the intro.

I say all this to first explain my absence. I've been taking photos but not stopping to write. My room looks like a disaster area, though slightly less so than it did last week, and I'm usually just tired when i get home. 
I got a new job, which I'm very much enjoying and could turn out to be a very good thing for me. It's in a great location and I've turned into a train commuter, which is also turning out to be very nice.

And yet, I hate the transitions.  The cramming of my brain with all the ins and outs and rules of the new gig, all the scheduling and deadlines and procedures (it's going well and I feel like I have a flow developing, but it still makes my head hurt sometimes), the new schedule, and random other x factors like upcoming weddings, cars that need work (yes, Jeep's got a part needing replaced, there's been a saga involving it, but luckily i have the part, bought it myself, and all i need is it to get on finally and we're good, I think.)

I think the exhaustion is more mental than physical. I'm really finding myself more awake in the mornings due to the walk to the train station, and I enjoy my morning more when it starts that way. But usually when I get home (also walking, of course :) ) I'm just...done trying for the day.  And it makes me irritable because I have a writing project I'm really excited about to do with someone, chores here, and a burning desire to go out and DO that I'm pretty much...not doing once I get in the door. I'm not even cooking. And I don't even really *want* to. 

This is normal for me when I start a new job, I've been through it before, even recently. But that doesn't mean I have to like it.
I can't wait for the new to wear off so I can get to the fleshin' out of it all.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Sky on Fire

Big storm tonight.
I love them, and I always will, even when they scare me.
There's something so surreal about the lightning...your eye can catch it, your camera can't. Sometimes it fascinates me just how amazing our eyes must be, the way they can grab such an amazing show of light in a split second...the way I look at things through my camera lens and it just can't even do what I see with the "naked eye" justice.

And I still try.

But tonight, what got me?
"Feelin' that energy in the air?"
Someone asked me...because they know.
I always do. I *love* the electricity in the air, I love that eerie silence...the roar of the thunder, even the crack of the strikes.  Sure, sometimes it gets to the point of fear, but if I really look at it, it's all just amazing.
It just makes me feel alive.
And it makes me want to share it with someone else who understands that.

video

Friday, May 20, 2011

INVISIBLE APOCALYPSE! OMG FLEE!


I think this is the perfect invisible apocalypse picture. :P

Anyway, I guess that's the running joke here there and everywhere. And it's absurd to think billboard guy  somehow has the answer to when the world stops spinning, so it is an amusing joke, especially during a rather bad Friday (seems like that was going around).

And on my way back from seeing a movie with a good friend (Pirates of the Carribean 4: Electric Boogaloo) , as I was walking by a church, I entertained the idea....say the looney was right. Now, I don't think he is.  But, say it was your last night...
Everyone's last night, as it were.

Don't you think, just like everyone always says when someone dies...that we ought to live more LIKE we didn't have all the time in the world?  Don't you think it's worth it to appreciate the little things, like the blue and orange swirled sunset this evening?  Or the reflection of the forest in the pond on a hiking path early in the morning? I mean, it's cliche, but I don't think it's without merit just because it's said often. Thing is, actions speak louder than words.

What should I be doing? Maybe not so much entertaining things that aren't really of worth, chasing little figments of fun in the past. Maybe tearing down the walls I've put up to love, because I just realized this year how high I built those. I used to be one of those that fell too fast, and now even when I fall I tend to look for a way out.
But why want a way out of that? Why want a way out of the arms that reach out to you late at night when you're upset and you can't bring yourself to speak a word to anyone, that draw it out of you and then ease your mind even from far away? Why not LET someone in, someone like that? Why not work together to better each other, unify for a common purpose, maybe let your wounds show even as you're wanting to help heal someone else's?

Maybe I *want* the end of the world to feel real, maybe I need the push to be courageous enough to do the things I'd do if this was it.
Really love. Really live.
Maybe make tonight different and come out the other side in your own new world.