Unwritten.

I used to think writing was a gift, a small shift in the grey matter of the people chosen to have it, that enabled us to be able to create.

Some days, it seems like writing is a curse. It's the need to get something, anything, out and having the words flit away from you like butterflies in a field.

These days, writing is more like a muscle, one that I've let atrophy and waste away until I worry that there is too little left there to develop back into the behemoth it once was.

I used to not be able to go anywhere without jotting something down on scraps of paper, littering my purse like a ticker tape parade. Anything that caught my eye, any random idea that popped into my head, they were all written down and compiled in standard unorganized fashion. I've written an entire novel.

I feel blocked and frustrated.

Hello lovers...

Long time no write! I've been adjusting to the major changes that have occurred in my life over the past few weeks and writing was, for once, the last thing on my mind.

But I'm here now, ready to sing like a songbird in the morning.

I'd like to start by addressing my critics. You may not understand me, you may not like me, but you have no place to judge me. Unless you've walked in my shoes (or skated in my roller skates), you don't know my life. You don't know how I feel, what I've been through and why I do (or have done) what I do. And, conversely, I don't know your life. Please don't think that it's ok to judge me and my choices. And please don't mistake me for the type of person that lets things like that slip. If you have something to say to me and, believe me, I know you do... say it to my face.

A hem.

That said.

I am so happy right now. I am almost unbearably happy, like my happiness might slip out of my pores and puddle on the floor around me. I never have ever thought I could have what I have right now - the movie fairy tale, the love from the books I've read since I was a kid. The person that would dance with me in the kitchen, hold my hand even when no one is looking. I feel constantly lucky to know her and to have her as my girlfriend and even more lucky that she feels that way about me back.

I used to think I knew what love was. I was so silly and so wrong and so so naive.

It isn't about changing yourself to fit into the mold of what you're supposed to be and what you're supposed to want. It's about meeting someone so complimentary that the words that come out of their mouth are the words that come out of yours, whose body fits against yours like a puzzle piece made to be there.

I am astounded and giddy and happy all the time and I refuse to apologize.

She's brought me back to life and I can never thank her enough.

Carpe diem.

Wow, it has been way too long!

Life has been good. No, strike that. Life has been, in a word, stellar. I feel like I've recently ascended in happiness like a phoenix, flying above all the stress and sadness that used to bring me down. It sounds sappy and dramatic but, if you've seen me in the last few weeks, you'll know from my face how true it is.

It's amazing how easy it is to let someone or something bring you down for so long. You sit back and let them question your motives, your self worth, your drive... and smile and nod while they're doing it! Your love for that person or that situation/job seeps somehow into your ability to feel complete, feel whole and, once you're on the other side of it, you see just how much importance you put on someone or something that didn't deserve it.

I am so happy now and, the best part is, I feel like I earned it. Like I deserve it. I refuse to base my self worth on any external forces and have become so cheesy silly happy that I can't imagine living any other way.

If you haven't tried it, I suggest you do. As I have recently been reminded, life is too short to be unhappy or not live your most genuine life RIGHT NOW.

Carpe diem, bitches. It might be the last one you have.

"All the poems you read
And what you really sought
Was the one poem.

And when you found it
... Weren’t you lifted up?
Didn’t you become lighter?

Transparent even, so that
someone looking at you
Could see the world,
Could see the world inside you?"

— Gregory Orr

Sunday Morning Coming Down...

Sitting on the couch this morning, wearing my girlfriend's grey Aero hoodie, I had one of those beautiful, rare moments of clarity.

It surprised me, for a moment, to realize how difficult a time I have had balancing everything recently. I used to put a lot of stock in horoscopes and astrology, although that practice has faded some with time, but I am a Libra. According to all the literature, I am a pretty typical Libra. The symbol of Libra are the scales, the ultimate balancing act. So, naturally, I should have a propensity for balance. 

Normally, I do. Thanks to my natural attention deficit disorder, I often flit around like a hummingbird, going from one task to another and back again, with little effect on my pschye.

But recently, I've felt myself worn down. It shocked me to see a defeatist attitude taking over, a "daily grind" sort of mentality. Drifting around with less joy than I have ever had, going from job to job and home without giving anything more than 25% (on a good day) of my time. My relationships suffered, my home suffered and I suffered.

It all came to a head when my shifts were cut at the place I had given my heart for 6 years. I felt angry, worthless, scared. But, thanks to my amazing girlfriend and a little therapy, I've come to understand that I have the world's best support system and I now have weekends. Weekends. I'm going to say that again because it feels foreign to me, like trying to suddenly speak Italian. 

So it's my first Sunday. As I told my girlfriend this morning, I'm going to carpe di-motherfucking-em. I'm writing, making pancakes, cleaning. I have my first roller derby practice in a month tonight. I start a new schedule this week that includes getting off early enough to pick my daughter up twice a week and late enough to drop her off at school once a week. My life seems to have somehow clicked together, as I realized this morning.

I can do it. I don't know why I ever thought I couldn't. 

Spring.

"Winter is on my head, but eternal spring is in my heart."

-Victor Hugo

Do you ever have those days when things just feel different somehow? More hopeful, like you're on the cusp of something big?

I walked out to my car this morning, running my obligatory 5 - 10 minutes late and still needing to stop to get coffee, only to discover it was iced over. As I reached for my ice scraper, I realized that I had recently stepped on it as it resided on my driver's side floor board and snapped the scraper from its handle. Instead of causing my grief and unleashing a string of Sunday morning expletives, I calmly picked it up from the floor and scraped my car off with my bare hand and the small piece of plastic.

After debating my diet for the day, I splurged on a delicious caramel macchiato for breakfast and actually got to work on time. I noticed the birds chirping outside and, although the temperature outside read 26 degrees on my car's dashboard, I could almost feel a hint of spring in the air.

It has been a weird winter. We've had very little snow, very few cold days, and my body feels out of whack somehow. It almost feels like winter never really came and now we're almost into spring. But, suddenly, I'm ready for it.

All those projects I've been dying to finish, like cleaning the basement, I want to take on. Weight loss is going great (lost 6# so far!) and I'm motivated to continue on that path. My family is going in a positive direction - we're this beautiful, well-greased unit of awesome. I'm finally standing up for myself in ways I should have a long time ago.

Spring is in the air and in my heart.

Knock knock knock...

Sometimes, when you least expect it, the universe has a way of pointing lessons out to you. If you're lucky, you notice as it gently taps you on the shoulder. If you're not, it knocks harder and harder until you are unable to ignore it.

Yesterday, a patient looked directly at me during an intake exam and told me that I shouldn't let money decide my happiness. When I got home, I talked to one of my boss's who informed me that there were no hours left for me until at least May. Today, a coworker's daughter was involved in a horrible car accident.

Ok. I get it. Money is less important than family and happiness! I would prefer not to have any more of these lessons.

Take it from me, lovely readers, and go home and hug your family. Look at those bills, pay them, and put them out of your mind. Enjoy the weather and your life and what you love to do while you can.

Trust me. The universe WILL knock harder.

Writing.

“You are lucky to be one of those people who wishes to build sand castles with words, who is willing to create a place where your imagination can wander. We build this place with the sand of memories; these castles are our memories and inventiveness made tangible. So part of us believes that when the tide starts coming in, we won't really have lost anything, because actually only a symbol of it was there in the sand. Another part of us thinks we'll figure out a way to divert the ocean. This is what separates artists from ordinary people: the belief, deep in our hearts, that if we build our castles well enough, somehow the ocean won't wash them away. I think this is a wonderful kind of person to be.”

- Anne Lamott

If forced to describe myself categorically, I would use all the usual labels... mother, daughter, partner, etc. But, sometimes above all that, I am a writer.

Writing muscles are similar to the muscles I've developed in roller derby. The muscle memory remains the same but, without practice, they atrophy.

But I don't set aside time like I used to, don't jot random, scattered notes on shreds of receipts with ideas for future short stories or blog posts. I sometimes worry that my gift is being squandered. I don't want to waste my talent but I also have an almost paralyzing fear of writer's block. It's cyclical - I stress about writer's block and don't write which makes me worry that I have writer's block even more.

But I've always felt there was so much good inside me, so many things waiting to come out and change the world. That may sound conceited but writing is the one talent I'm sure of, the one thing that I know I'm good at.

So why the fear? Why the self-judgement?

If I let you know I'll figure it out. Maybe that's just something that comes with being a crazy writer, the type of person who always has weird, random thoughts bouncing around in her brain.

They say all writers are a little crazy.