maybe it's not mine after all

despair. a good day turned black fog.
Julia Stone's This Love
brings panic, a scrambling and nostalgia for a time
barely dead.

rising above the smog to the pristine crispness of your face and the firmness of your jaw
I reach for your soul
my own salvation
and turn off the lights to my hope.
maybe it's not mine after all.
maybe I'm hurting us anew.

from dark to light to dark again
my spirit fluctuates
dims and brightens with the sound of your voice
over the miles.

exhaustion is the plain unromantic truth
and sustainability is a mirage.

tsunami and drought
butterflies and grubs
mt. everest and the grand canyon
water and clay.

crushing vascillations,
doubt reproducing like
cell division.

rising above the smog to the pristine crispness of your face and the firmness of your jaw

I reach for your soul

my own salvation

and turn off the lights to my hope.

maybe it's not mine after all.

maybe I'm hurting us anew.

I'm here with you

Hiding under dupatta

Listening to jingles when I walk

Echoes of laughter

Wonderment

Memories

Coming alive

I wish

I want

I learn

I cry

I feel

I swim

I drown

I rise to the surface.

Sleepless nights

Phone calls in darkness

After nightmares.

I’m here with you.

I’m here with you.

I’m here with you.

I’m here with you.

Bouncing on toes

Barefeet

Fingers in the air

Sweating

And spinning

And love

And yearning

And hope

For more days

For better days

For neverending days

With you, with you, with you.

Incense billows and fills in the cracks

Ganesha smiles and reassures

Pink quartz and Namascar

Floating through it all

The room

The bodies

The anxiety

And even pain

It won’t last

It’s transient

Like all other things

Joy and peace

And contentment

With reality

The reality I’ve chosen

The one with you in it

Are coming my way

I’m here with you.

I’m here with you.

I’m here with you.

I’m here with you.

Pulling Myself Up and Out

Crunchy dead Yule tree

Presents unwrapped

House boxed up

Waiting

Waiting

How to wait

In happiness

That’s what I want to know

How to live in the present

And find joy

And have

Gratitude

For what I experience and own and feel and live

Right

Now

Music

Dance

Friends

Entertaining

Watching movies

With

With

With

Those friends

And

Not

Alone

I promise

Uncovering

Self

From under

The snow

Time

With myself

Honoring

Understanding

Loving

Celebrating

With pink cheeks

And cold nose

Breath puffs in the air

I will

I will

I will

I will live

And love

Me.

I’ll be alone

And not alone

Rejoicing in the coolness of me.

South Asian Challenge 2012 -- Because.

Ok.
Because I don't have anything better to do (Ha ha ha,) I'm signing up for this challenge.
And.
I will read ... 8 books this year either about South Asia, or written by a South Asian person.
In addition to all my other reading pursuits.
Because ...

"Creative People Feel."

I have writer's block. But not the regular kind. It's self-induced ... sort-of.

I was looking through some old content on this blog and recognized a certain open-ness that doesn't seem to exist on here anymore. And then I went to Facebook, and the same is true there, too. I'm not posting in either place. Or, I am, but in a vanilla sanitized way. Not too emotional. Not too raw. Not too edgy. Not too ... real.

It's Winter

I know it’s winter because I look for meaning in everything. Until my brain stem hurts and I get thirsty.

The Crazies Are Setting In

I have seven books on how to get organized. One of them boasts I can even do that without resorting to arson.

I Need a Name For My New Home

I'm so excited about my new house!
Even though I can't move into it for six weeks.
How will I wait for that?!

My friend, Tamara, says, "Whatever. You'll be packing. It's not that long." Call me insane but, I didn't actually think I'd have to pack. It's just a few blocks away. Like fifteen, or something. I thought that I could make a few van trips with some laundry baskets full of clothes and kitchen utensils and it'd be done. Right?

The Ghosts of Unwritten Blog Posts

Makes you wonder
what happens on Thursdays at 11am.
You know?

I woke up in the middle of the night last night and thought of all the blog posts that have been rolling around in my head lately -- unwritten.

First there was the one about my vacation and love and what it's been like in long-distance relationship realm. Then there was the one about abortion and how single parenthood could affect someone's stance on that issue. And then that blog post segued nicely into the one on religion and what last vestiges of power and guilt organized religion still hold over me. Also how my cyber-friends in Portland can make classy barbs at religion -- during Halloween no less -- and still have a following.

Then there was the post on Ikea and secrets.
One on assimilation, and becoming someone else -- how hard it is to stay authentic, especially in relationships.

One on moving yet again.

One on the pros and cons of having a baby later in life. Or more specifically do I want to have another baby. Because being newly divorced means you can ask yourself these questions now.

There was another post I thought about on self-improvement, living in line with your principles, and saying sorry when it's the right thing to do.

But dammit.

I had a conversation with a friend that turned that post on its ear.

Another blog post was going to be about my favorite sweater. The one I love and looks great on me -- like it was made for me -- painted on. With a hood and cool buttons. My Faerieworlds sweater.

But.

How every time I wear it, I think of my ex-boyfriend.

And that's crummy. Because it's coming on winter now and I'll be wanting to wear it all the time. The only thing I can think to do is ... wear it. And hopefully new memories will come from that.

And then there's the post on my son and counseling: more invisible special needs, and my fears surrounding those.

And my fears surrounding the future. Everyone has those fears. That would make a good blog post, too.





But not in the middle of the night.

Secret Lessons from Grief and Books, and the Traditions You Pass On To Your Children

Strange.
Emotional spilling over.

While reading a book, I move from one scene to the next -- one sentence to the next -- and start to cry. With no hint of a reason why.

The Wind Has Wings With Feathers

In a lot of ways I feel like I'm being born again. I'm ready. Excited. Full of anticipation. Growth, Change. .... but also, the breathlessness of anxiety -- like a gust of wind that takes your breath away. Smack in the face.

I'm going to reactivate my inactive massage therapy license.

And I've challenged myself to a renewed mission of authenticity and self-honesty. And courage. Courage to say what's on my mind.

To live the way I feel inside.

To inhale life and breath out art.

Therapeutic Value of Rearranging Furniture

Permission to Unleash -- a memoir review

This book cover has a boob on it.
How could I miss a BOOB on my book?
I looked again, and the publisher had added a 'sleeve' tacked on to cover the nudity!
I immediately ripped it off and trashed it.
I liked the boob.
It's a nice boob.

I can't help it.
I'm not finished with this book, but I have to talk about it anyway.



I love this book because ... she writes like I think. Short, staccato sentences. Verbs. Blurting. Metaphors bleeding.

"Gonna Learn to Bend"

What came first? The melancholy nostalgia in-between ache, or the music of Amber Darland on a No Shame Eugene Theatre night amongst friends I used to have. Ones that smile and hug me when they see me tonight, but whom I've lost touch with because of my divorce.

With heart beating, my fingertips rubbing against themselves, I see hijab. I see art. I hear "I Am." I hear whispers and quiet footfalls and the warm chords of acoustical guitar. My favorite.

Struggling not to cry, I applaud instead.

I feel stupid in the skirt and tights I've worn tonight, and wish instead I could hide in jeans and the wool cap my friend crocheted for me.

No hiding for me tonight though -- I'm performing. Reading a monologue. Something different. Jump into the fire, no toes in the water.

Exhaustion Times Four

The number four has no relevance in the title. I'm just damn tired. (I was going to put an exclamation point, but it would've taken too much energy to yell that, so I just left it a period.)

Yesterday morning=boot camp class
Yesterday day=work, writing group
Yesterday night=foam rolled and watched Bosom Buddies episodes until 12:30a.m.
Today morning=yoga
Today day=work
Tonight=work and  then crash in bed asap

Super short post today. It's a little after 4pm. I'm going to look for airline tickets to NJ and then nap for a short while. Then back to the bank, and back to work.

I hope I can talk to N sometime today. His phone died this morning in mid-conversation.

Can't wait to visit him at the end of this month. :)

Bikram Boot Camp?

I'm embarking on another round of Let's See How Long it Takes to Pass Out From Doing Exercise.

I've started a beginning boot camp class. Again. I'm still a beginner because the last time I started, I technically wasn't IN the beginner's class. I was just tagging along. I wasn't on the google boards, I didn't have a manual, I wasn't getting the mentoring. I was just ... you know... getting my ass kicked from bear crawls. (I hate bear crawls.)

My Oldest is Thirteen ... well, we had the party for it at least.

This weekend is all about THE KIDS. 

And I'm glad of that. 

Sometimes it's awesome to be selfless.

Between

This post will just highlight my ever changing moods and frames of mind. I actually wrote this in my journal last night, but woke feeling different. Not totally, but you know, much-less-dramatic-than-at-night-when-you're-tired different.

~

I want to write a little about inspiration and -- NaBlPoMo. Which is strangely fun to say. I feel like I'm in sore need of some artistic influence -- enter NapBloPoMo. NaBloPoMo's (National Blog Posting Month's) theme this month is "Between." When I read that I knew I needed to play along. For realsies.

This Moment Stolen From SouleMama

{this moment}

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

I put two in; so sue me.

Oh.

I also added words.

Doh!

Coming Back Into Myself

I've made myself a cup of tea and I'm sitting down for an hour before needing to go to work. I'm working a double shift today, so we'll see how my energy levels go for the rest of the day.

Right now I'm feeling fairly upbeat. I've been battling some depression this week, so a respite now and again is nice.

I need to re-evaluate what brings me back to me. When I'm feeling discouraged or emotionally under the weather, what can I do to nurture myself?

Chimney Swifts at Nana's Place

So I'm driving a Prius these days.

And by "these days" I mean for-the-next-three.

My daughter's class is going on a camping trip and one of the dads sent out a frantic email yesterday saying, Our van broke down and I was carrying all the gear and THE WATER for all the campers for three days. I could take our Prius, but .... THE WATER!

So I magnanimously offered him my eleven-year-old-falling-apart-van, in exchange for his Prius.

Nice.

Everyone's happy.

I dropped off a last minute sleeping bag at the school this morning and the class teacher said, Thanks so much for the van! and I tried not to laugh. I think I played it off fairly suave. "Hey, I get to drive a Prius for three days -- chuckle, chuckle."

I'm Really Good at Lying

I’m really good at lying to myself. But I wish I weren’t.

“I love the extreme-ness of my boot camp class. It’s the only way I can get myself to do exercise.”  (It sucks ass. I hate it.)

Dragging My Feet?

I went walking with the kids yesterday. A big long, fat walk. We were gone for about two and a half hours. Our goal upon setting out was timing how long it took for Robert to walk home from school, and if the walkie-talkies could make the distance. Could I hear him on the walkie-talkie if I was at home or work or driving, and he was at the school?

I don't have a complete answer to that yet, but I do know

How I Became Stupid

It's 7:22am. I've been awake since 4am, and slept fitfully before that. But the reason I woke up at 4am was because I set the alarm. Yes.

I set the alarm for 4am, brushed my teeth and hair and pulled on stretchy comfy clothes, then rode my bike in the dark to attend f%@king bootcamp. I almost fell asleep on the bike ride home.

In my bike panniers were: a yoga mat (which I didn't use), a bottle of water (which did get used), my purse ('cuz every woman needs a bag stuffed full of useless shit while doing calisthenics until you pant, growl and just generally feel like you're going to pass out), and ... wait for it ... two five pound dumb-bells. Don't *you* carry dumb-bells in your bike panniers?

Serious headsmack.

Invisible Special Needs

So I just spent THREE hours reading blogs written by mom's with kids with Asperger's or Autism, and websites that touted the iPad as a great resource for these kids. Apparently there is a butt-load of apps specifically designed for kids on the autistic spectrum. Who knew?

Now, I don't actually *have* an iPad, but my ex does. I just sent him an email with a few links to apps that might be helpful to our son.

What's gotten me on this special needs kick all of a sudden? A number of things. Some silly. Some profound.

Here are a few, in no particular order:  

Time Suck

I have a friend who has been unplugged for a month now. A noble gesture for sure, but one I’m unwilling to emulate. I don’t have cable, so I don’t watch TV, but I am a movie junkie and definitely use my $15/month at Netflix. I’m also on the internet a lot.

This weekend I’ve been having intermittent internet access. Sketchy at best. It’s frustrating and irritating – and slightly embarrassing, because I can’t figure out if it’s a router issue, or operator error. I’ll spare you the troubleshooting and just move on to my personal discovery.

Soooo Many Books To Read

A surprising, or not so surprising, by-product of attending writers conferences, is the books you end up buying that you weren't planning on. I came home with four more (not counting the review copy of Tasting Rain that was waiting in the mail box upon my return) books than I left with.

I justified them all.

Duh.

First of all, The Chronology of Water was mandatory because it's a memoir. And I write memoir, so I need to read memoir for research purposes. (See how I justified that?) Lydia Yudnavitch's writing is brilliant. Lyrical. Random. Poetic. Like how I like to write. Picked at random: page 115 shares when she met Ken Kesey the first time:

What It Looks Like For Me

I wondered seriously about posting this entry. It’s extremely personal and screams T.M.I. (too much information). But I so don’t want to feel censored in my writing. I’m struggling right now between the difference in revealing too much and putting myself out there for “friends” (or even family members) to state their disdain and disapproval of my choice of words, topics of conversation, or even the pictures I share on Facebook – and being an authentic writer that attracts the right audience to her.

I think this topic that I’ve written about today is one that all women face, or have faced in the past, or will face in the future. So, it seems rational that I’d speak of it here. It just happens to broach a delicate subject.

What a Day Off Looks Like

I woke too early. It's my day off and my children are with their dad today, so I was hoping for a good 8 to 10 hours but am only granted six. Upon waking I am greeted with a fearsome vision -- kind of a nightmare where I'm partially awake. I gain alertness as the vision increases in it's horror. And by the climax of it, I am fully awake -- though paralyzed from shock and sickness.

Failed Book Review

I have failed.

I did not complete this book.

Finishing books I've started has always been an unwritten law for me. If I start one, I have to finish it.
It's only been recent (in the last five years or so) that I've allowed myself to not finish a book. I had conceded that my time was precious and that if I was not riveted to what I was reading ... it was OK to stop.


So, I didn't complete "Desperately Seeking Paradise." I purchased it at that great Mecca of booksellers: Powell's City of Books with the understanding that it was a memoir. What originally sold me on it was the quote on the back by James Buchan of the Guardian. He said, "Desperately Seeking Paradise draws on an old Muslim literary tradition in which a man sets out from home and friends, ostensibly to make his pilgrimage to Mecca, but really to indulge his spiritual restlessness ... add some British-Indian blokery and some slapstick, and you will have some idea of the scope and charm of Desperately Seeking Paradise. Interspersed through these adventures are meditations on episodes in Islamic history and other political and religious movements."

A memoir, right?

"Wanna see my fishtank?" -- an euphemism for ???

I recently met up with my other 37 year old girlfriends going through divorce (it's so wild that there are so many of us!) and we started talking about online dating. Two of us had met our ex-husbands and/or current boyfriends online, and two of us met them through regular social means. And two of us are currently on an online dating site right now.

It seemed that online dating (the merits and demerits of it) would be a good topic to write about here, because it is something that a lot of women have had, or will have, some experience with. Also -- and especially because -- if you are a single mom, the chances of you going through the online dating experience probably quadruple, or something. I mean, if you are a single parent of small children .... are you going to go to a bar to pick up guys? Well. Maybe you are, but that's besides the point. The point is, online dating is becoming more and more prevalent and less and less taboo.

So when my lady friends came over, and we pillaged through the snacks everyone had brought, and we made ourselves drinks, and we settled into the living room, and we started laughing immediately about nipple size, blogs and small children ... also marbles -- I opened up the online dating topic.

"Nook"y on the Plane

I have a Nook.
I got it in the divorce.

I've only used it once though, and I didn't buy it for myself. (I didn't inhale disclaimer.)
My ex bought it for himself, and then bought the iPad he really wanted but couldn't rationalize the cost. (snort)

So I snagged the Nook. You know, just in case.

I've never wanted an ebook reader. I don't need one. To mirror Emma Thompson in "Stranger Than Fiction," "I don't need [an ebook reader], Penny. I [read books.]" (Only she was talking about the nicotine patch and smoking cigarettes.)

"...I pledge allegiance to Turtle Island, and to the beings who there on dwell ..."

There's nothing like Nature for clarity and grounding ...