one. because they said you couldn't. 

two. because they said you wouldn't.
three. because they said you shouldn't.
four. because you wake up in the morning. there must be a reason for that, even if it's something so small as to smile at a stranger. because maybe that small smile is the lone bright spot in someone's incredibly dark day. and your smile... it's amazing. remember?
five. cupcakes.
six. because you have friends. you do.
seven. there's music. everywhere. and it's beautiful.
eight. and flowers. the bluebonnets. the roses. and ranunculus. daisies in the sun. magnolias in the trees.
nine. daddy.
ten. mama.

eleven. films. the ones that make you laugh. the ones that make you cry. the ones that make you want to tell a story. the ones that manage to do all three things at once. like steel magnolias. you would've missed that, had you given in all those years ago. you would've missed its perfection.
twelve. aggie football.
thirteen. poetry.
fourteen. at the end of the day, you get to crawl into your supremely comfortable bed dressed in its star wars sheets and sleep knowing that you made it one more day. that you hung in there. that even if you hadn't accomplished anything else in your day, you did that. and that was enough.
fifteen. pappadeaux's.
sixteen. literature. think of all the characters you've yet to meet.
seventeen. it's glorious outside. one last lovely glimpse of the spring...
eighteen. minn. she would want you to. can't you hear her in your head? jenny griffin...
nineteen. shazam.
twenty. bambam. those two... they need you.

twenty-one. you quit smoking. there's a reason for that.
two. your teachers... your professors... they saw good in you when you couldn't see it in yourself. they saw you.
three. disneyland. or world. either one will do. well, no. world. universal studios. harry potter. a person needs to see that place.
four. utah.
five. colorado.
six. england. london, specifically, but... really, the whole country's kind of magnificent.
seven. germany.
eight. ireland. you've not been there. and you know... there's that branch of the tree. on your father's mother's side.
nine. austria. you've not been there, either. and you know... there's that branch of the tree. on your mother's mother's side.
thirty. greece. you've not been there, either. and EVERYONE needs to see that.

thirty-one. coca-cola. yeah. i said it. a soft drink. a damned fine soft drink.
two. speaking of teachers... there's those ones who never taught you, but they know you (mostly because of your father, sure, but also because when you see them, it shows in your face how much you love them)... they ask about you. you. not your brothers, but you. even though you never had the privilege of learning from them. they ask about you because they love you.
three. you haven't gotten whitten her chocolate-covered coffee beans yet. or kaitlyn's yankee candle. or brenda's gift card... or whomever else out there in need of some kindness and generosity. you haven't shown everyone the love. and they could use some.
four. phineas still has about fifty thousand miles him. oh, the places you could go...
five. shakira hasn't won the voice yet. not that she's gonna win it this year... but it could happen... someday.
six. chicken spaghetti.
seven. calvin and hobbes.
eight. blueberry muffins.
nine. settlers of catan.
forty. scrabble.

forty-one. bookstores.
two. movie theaters.
three. house of blues.
four. macaroni and cheese.
five. halibut. with the piccata sauce--the crab meat and the lemons and the capers.
six. laughter.
seven. you've stories to tell. you do.
eight. because if you die, then they win. don't let that happen.
nine. because your brother can't.
fifty. because you promised someone you would. you promised.

these are my reasons. but you out there... if you're struggling, feel free to borrow them.

songs that start with the letter y: a not-so-random sample

one. yard of muscle. middlefinger's three martini lunch.

two. yawny at the apocalypse. andrew bird's armchair apocrypha.

three. yellow. coldplay's parachutes.

four. yellow ledbetter. pearl jam's rearview mirror.

five. yesterday. staind's fourteen shades of gray.

six. you and me. lifehouse's self-titled album.

seven. you are loved (don't give up). josh groban's awake.

eight. you are the best thing. ray lamontagne's gossip in the grain.

nine. you cause as much sorrow. sinead o'connor's i do not want what i haven't got.

ten. you could be mine. guns n' roses' use your illusion ii.

eleven. you don't have to be afraid. kaki king's until we felt red.

twelve. you don't know me. michael buble's it's time.

thirteen. you found me. the fray's self-titled album.

fourteen. you give me something. james morrison's undiscovered.

fifteen. you look so fine. garbage's version two.

sixteen. you picked me. a fine frenzy's one cell in the sea.

seventeen. you really got me. van halen's self-titled album.

eighteen. you told a lie. camera obscura's my maudlin career.

nineteen. you're not one of them. john ottman's superman returns soundtrack.

twenty. you're still here. faith hill's cry.

twenty-one. young folks. peter bjorn and john's writer's block.

twenty-two. your hands are cold. jean-yves thibaudet's pride and prejudice soundtrack.

twenty-three. your time has come. audioslave's out of exile.

twenty-four. your winter. sister hazel's fortress.

twenty-five. the youth. mgmt's oracular spectacular.

u is for utah

the view of huntsville, utah from halfway up the mountain.

t minutes ten weeks to departure. because yes, yes i'm counting. it's getting hot here.

t is for try, try, try...

so this evening, while working on the character bios for reese and seth, i was polling the servers and bar staff for suggestions (because the way it works for me is that i'll grill people for things like biggest regret or college majors and the like, and when someone says something that makes sense, i run with it. it's like i recognize it. like i knew it before it was said, but couldn't say it... or something). and i can get pretty loud. and i won't care that i'm loud, really, because to be honest, i have two decibels: meek and boisterous. and i was happy. so i was boisterous. and oblivious to how that happiness might have made other patrons unhappy. no. not oblivious. i didn't care. and i should've.

the booth behind me was crowded with a number of overweight, poorly-dressed african american women of varying ages.

i'd been polling the servers about their biggest fears. one of them had mentioned the camel spider. i was unfamiliar with such a critter. so i googled it. and one of the pictures i saw was quite disgusting. and i could not help but shriek when i saw it.

i was in the middle of turning my laptop so that the server could see what i'd found when i heard one of the women at my back exclaim, what is wrong with that girl?

now, i've never been any good at standing up for myself. ever. but for some reason, i found the courage to turn my attention to these ladies. i glared at them and said, really. and then i turned back around.

and i could hear them muttering amongst themselves. i let it go for a minute or two. but i really wasn't in the mood for it. so i turned back around and said, maybe yall should wait until you've left the restaurant to talk about me behind my back.

and one of them said, no, we'll do it right here.

i waited a moment. was going to ignore them. but i'm not good at that. so i got up, shoved past them and went outside to sit on the one of the benches. i was gonna wait until they'd left to go back inside. and then i thought, that's cowardly, and i'd rather have a drink. so i went back inside. and they were still there.

one of the bartenders told me after the women left that one of them had taken out her pepper spray and pointed it in my direction.

all because sometimes boisterous tips over into obnoxious. because, on a rare occasion, i'd raised my voice.

of course, these women went straight to one of the managers before they'd left to complain about their experience.

there are times when i'm at pappadeaux's that i feel a majority of the staff there tolerates me. but on this occasion, the manager came to me after addressing those women's concerns to make sure i was alright. she said that she thought i was pretty cool. or something. and she'd seemed proud of me for standing up. the bartenders did what they knew to do, too, to cheer me up.

i was pretty quiet after that.

some people think i'm this really nice chick, that i give so generously. the only i reason i work so hard to be giving is because i keep thinking if i give enough, i'll be better for it in the end. and at first, when i thought that, i wondered just how giving i needed to be. and then it occurred to me that those people at that restaurant, the staff there, they had my back. maybe not in the moment, because i'm sure there're limits to what they can do (though the manager said that if i'd come to her the moment the incident began she would've handled it), but after... they kept me from crumpling. and that's a pretty good return.

so tomorrow... i will try to be better. to be more deserving of their compassion for me.

q is for questions from a couple of friends

one. standard order when out to dinner: chicken flautas, chicken fried steak, mezzaluna pasta, cheeseburger, turkey sandwich, philly cheesesteak salad... i gravitate toward the most fattening item on the menu.

two. how do you like your steak? i don't, really, unless it's chicken fried. or pepper steak with bell peppers. but if it's regular steak, medium well with ketchup.

three. how do you want to spend your next birthday? that's gonna be forty-two. i'd really rather not think too much about that, except to say i forgot to ask off for that day this year and won't make that mistake again. i'd just want a good day. nothing extravagant or exemplary. just contentment. peaceful. easy. 

four. least favorite household chore: laundry. there's piles of it. always and forever. PILES.

five. movie you could watch over and over again: star trek. the one from five years ago. i've watched it at least fifty times, and i never get sick of it.

courtesy of kate at another clean slate

six. if you could go on vacation anywhere (you haven't already been) where would you want to go and with whom (can be fictional character); money is no object? ireland. a few years ago, i went to europe with my cousins. we had this tour guide named kate. i'd want to go with her. she was very good at her job.

seven. what does your ideal writing retreat look like? a couple of years ago, i discovered a writing retreat put on by the sun magazine. i kind of want to go to that. 

eight. what writing rituals do you have? i cop a squat at pappadeaux's bar, near the to-go stand. i play on the computer for a bit, chat with the staff. and then i plug in, open up itunes and word and get to work. if i stall, i'll unplug for a bit, chat with the staff some more, surf the net... rinse... repeat. this is pretty much how i spend every day. one of these days, i'll get paid to do it... assuming i can ever convince anyone in the industry that what i do is of value.

 

nine. scariest thing you've ever done: for my twenty-fifth birthday, my parents bought me a carribbean cruise. it left out of new orleans, made a pitstop in tampa bay and then headed for grand cayman. while in tampa bay and because i was, at the time, addicted to mountain dew and the ship did not supply its patrons with that particular beverage, i disembarked and went on a quest to find a gas station so i could buy a twelve pack. only it was sunday in tampa. early. and there weren't a lot of gas stations nearby, and none were open. so i walked. and walked. and being the gullible gal i am, i allowed a poorly-dressed, stinky, too-smiley, scrawny, bad-toothed african american male to escort me to what he'd said was a nearby gas station. but after walking for about ten blocks (because yes, it usually takes me a while to get a clue) into an increasingly ghetto neighborhood, i finally realized that perhaps this good samaritan wasn't so good, and i managed to excuse myself. i headed back to the boat, to the convenience store a block or so away from the ship and waited for it to open so i could get my fix. that night, i'd dreamt some dudes had injected heroin into my veins. 

ten. what do you spend way too much money on but just can't help it? movies. i watch a LOT of movies.

courtesy of tina at life is good.

songs that start with the letter o: a not-so-random sample

one. o valencia. the decemberists' the crane wife.

two. objection (tango). shakira's laundry service.

three. ocean and a rock. lisa hannigan's sea sew.

four. oh father. madonna's like a prayer.

five. an olive grove facing the sea. snow patrol's up to now.

six. on fire. switchfoot's the beautiful letdown.

seven. one and only. mary black's shine.

eight. one day main titles. rachel portman's one day (original motion picture soundtrack).

nine. one headlight. the wallflower's bringing down the horse.

ten. one line. p.j. harvey's stories from the city, stories from the sea.

eleven. one sweet love. sara bareilles' little voice.

twelve. one tree hill. u2's the joshua tree.

thirteen. only one. lifehouse's no name face.

fourteen. operation mindcrime. queensryche's operation mindcrime.

fifteen. operation spirit (the tyranny of tradition). live's mental jewelry.

sixteen. opticon. orgy's vapor transmission.

seventeen. ordinary world. duran duran's the wedding album.

eighteen. the other side. what made milwaukee famous' what doesn't kill us.

nineteen. outerspace. cold's thirteen ways to bleed on stage.

twenty. the outlaw torn. metallica's load.

twenty-one. outside. staind's break the cycle.

twenty-two. over and over. rachael yamagata's elephants... teeth sinking into heart.

twenty-three. over my head (cable car). the fray's how to save a life.

twenty-four. overboard. ingrid michaelson's girls and boys. 

twenty-five. ozone. fuel's sunburn.

l is for lifesavers

no. not the candy.

i'm talking about the kind that saves me from crazy. the kindness. the givers. the giving.

friday sucked. it was ugly. a couple of times a year, all the anxiety i feel, all the insecurity and inadequacy and irresponsibility and ugliness, everything hideous inside me swells. that scene in clash of the titans (not the one from a few years ago... not the one with sam worthington, liam neeson and ralph fiennes--what a waste of money that was--but the one from a few decades ago... the one with laurence olivier, maggie smith, burgess meredith... and, yes, harry hamlin). sure the special effects SUCKED. but the story was good. heck, the heart of that story's pretty awesome, i think. it's got some fantastic components. anyway. at the end, andromeda's chained to the cliff and the kraken's rising up out of the water.... and the whole world's certain that she's gonna get gobbled up. until perseus swoops in to save the day, thanks to the wings of pegasus and the head of medusa.

friday, all that ugliness was the kraken. and i was chained to the cliff. (i was lying on the kitchen floor, concentrating on not bashing my head against the ceramic tiles.)

you know what saved me?

my friend meredith. just her smiling face is so often enough to do the trick. i don't see her very often, because she's a very busy girl, but that day, oh, lord, i thanked the heavens she was there. her faith in me is a wondrous thing. her laughter is beautiful. and that i can make her laugh, even when i'm feeling despicable... that's a miracle, too.

my father. i know i'm not the daughter he hoped to have. there're many, many, many things i can't give him. i'm not the coddly type. and he is. very much so. he always wants to hug. to run a hand over my hair or my back. and i almost always balk at that. i don't always like to be touched. that night i looked at him and said, sometimes i wish i could just crawl up into your lap, like i did when i was little. and he just said, you still can. i can't. i really can't. but it mattered to me that i let him know i thought of it, wished for it. that he's proud of me, anyway... that matters, too.

my friends at pappadeaux's, especially the ones who've signed up for swapportunity. one of the servers passed to me two gifts to hand out. and so that night, after i defeated the kraken (however temporary that victory may be... because, unlike perseus, i don't have medusa's head to wield as a weapon), i made myself get up, get out... get over to deaux's and deliver the goods. and it made my heart happy to brighten those girls' days.

there's a song we sang in college... you gave me smiles, so you are my friend. friday? i was capable of inspiring laughter. and i made people smile. despite the darkness. despite the threat. but more... these people made me laugh. they made me smile. they saved me.

and the reason i write this now is because i want you to know, you out there... no matter how small a thing may seem to you, even if it's something so simple as a smile... whatever kindness you can share is all anyone needs to get through an ugly day. that smile? that kindness... that's just as strong a salvation as perseus riding on the winged back of pegasus. it's enough. you're enough. i wanted you to know that.

j is for jenny

i was jenny when i was little. i didn't mind it, but there was a point i preferred jenn...

we moved to conroe when i was ten. for two years prior, i'd not had many friends. in louisiana, there was charlotte. in new mexico, there was monica and kiersten. but mostly, i played by myself. with my barbies and little people. or colored. or went on walks or bike rides.

when we moved here, i befriended the girl across the street, stephanie, who introduced me to traci and erica. stephanie and i played together almost every day that summer. we had a pool in my backyard. she'd come over to swim. or i'd go over to her house and play. before school started, a girl who lived down the street, jennifer, had a pool party. she'd invited me. i was so excited. i'd thought i was making friends.

i didn't stay long at the party because there were boys there. the boys made fun of me. the girls joined in. i walked home. and when school started, stephanie, traci and erica stopped being friendly because they'd realized it wasn't cool to be friends with me.

but there was also jenny, whom i met when mom signed me up for a nearby neighborhood's swim team. together, we rode our bicycles all over the neighborhood. we swam all the time. we stayed over at each others' houses. when i was at her house, she was jenny one, and i was jenny two. when we were at mine, i was one, and she was two.

jenny had straight blonde hair and wore glasses. one day, in junior high, she came to school with permed hair and contacts, which made her prettier, which made the cool kids take notice.

jenny and i always sat at lunch together. then one day, she wasn't at our table. she wasn't there the next day. or the day after that. the other girl who sat with us (i think her name was ginny)... we looked for jenny and found her sitting at one of the long tables with all the cool kids. so we sat with her because we wanted to be with our friend. we sat there the next day. and the next. the number of kids sitting at that table dwindled day by day. the cool kids migrated to another table. the three of us went back to our round table by the window. and after that, jenny and i--we weren't quite as good of friends.

we lived outside the city, between conroe and the woodlands. the district had three high schools: conroe, mccullough and oak ridge. conroe served north montgomery county; mccullough and oak ridge served the south. conroe and mccullough were both five-a schools; oak ridge was a four-a, but its enrollment was close to the five-a mark. my father, the superintendent, devised a plan to boost that enrollment: students in certain areas, like where we lived, could choose one of the five-a schools or oak ridge.

its building was smaller. newer. i'd been to conroe’s campus before. it was big and dark. massive and crowded. my older brother went there. everybody loved him. his peers. his teachers. and his kid sister was an ugly, quiet, clumsy runt. i imagined walking the halls with my peers. i didn't want to be around those people; they didn't want to be around me. i knew i wouldn't make it if i went there. i wouldn't last. it wasn't a hard choice.

i went to oak ridge. jenny went to conroe. after that i only saw her at swim meets. i tried to talk to her once. she barely said a word.

my older brother called me jenny. my younger brother does every now and then. my aunts, uncles and cousins do. outside my family, there’s not many people whom i'll let call me that. i don't feel like a jenny. it's bright and happy. i am neither of those things. not really. not anymore. my friend minn always called me jenny. i thought of her today. every time she saw me, she'd greet me with jenny griffin. like it was a beautiful thing. like i was.

chicken spaghetti: the one my mama makes... courtesy gwen hruska

ingredients:

two quarts (thirteen to fifteen pieces) chicken, diced

four ribs celery, chopped

two large onions, chopped

green pepper, chopped

two cloves garlic, minced

sixteen-ounce can rotel tomatoes, diced

can cream of mushroom soup

tablespoon seasoned salt

teaspoon pepper

tablespoon worcestershire sauce

pound velveeta cheese, diced fine

twelve-ounce package thin spaghetti

preparation:

boil chicken: reserve one quart of broth. while deboning chicken, add celery, green pepper, onion, tomatoes and garlic to broth. let simmer until tender, increase heat bringing water to a boil. add spaghetti (broken into pieces). cook until done (do not overcook). add chicken and remaining ingredients. simmer until cheese melts. put into greased nine-by-thirteen inch casserole. best if made the day before. heat at three-fifty until center is bubbly.

the thirty-fourth question

this post is one of many for a creative nonfiction project i began several years ago. i call it the griffin inquisition. i've asked my friends and family to pose questions, things they want to know about me that would require more than a yes or no for an answer.

the most recent addition comes from my friend, caleb.

you strike me as the kind of person who has a very negative outlook on life, almost cynical. where did it start; what do you think the root cause of it is; why would you continue to think that way; and what are the first steps to repairing the issue.

it's not always that way. i'm capable of seeing good. i do strive to do this, and yes, i know my efforts aren't always the best. i think the biggest issue, really, is that i've grown accustomed to a certain...

people treated me a certain way in my youth and adolescence. and it was exceptionally rare for that way to resemble anything like kindness. this mistreatment started at a very early age, so that by the time i'd reached my teenage years, it was all i knew.

but you want me to tell you when that outlook began to be negative...

i can tell you that, with all the medical issues i faced in infancy, with all the poking and prodding doctors did to determine the necessary remedies for correcting those issues... that when the poking and prodding by my third-grade peers began, i must've been overly susceptible to it. maybe my mind had already begun constructing defense mechanisms. maybe it had subconsciously begun to anticipate pain. i know when my friends stopped being friends, it hurt, and my inability to discern the cause made it hurt even more.

it doesn't take much to make me happy. because any kindness shown to me is such a welcome surprise. like today. i got a box in the mail. i'd forgotten that i'd ordered something. i stopped by the store i use for shipping things (where my mailbox is) to send out a copy of a manuscript to a friend, and, seeing an envelope in my box, i stopped to collect my mail. inside was this tiny, bright green slip of paper telling me i had an oversized package. FOR ME! YAY!

i'm not hard to please.

but it's easy to hurt me. it's what i've come to expect.

the other day, as i walked from the kitchen to the stairs, i looked out the windows--it was a beautiful day, the kind that warms your heart because it's so perfect. i saw a school bus pass and wondered if, in my childhood, my mother had waited there for me. if she had stood where i stood in those rooms, watching me come off the bus and crossing the short distance to our house. i stopped, stared at the road, at the sunlight and shadows upon it. i thought of her standing there, watching my remarkably tiny self... i asked her if she stood there, waiting for me. yes, she'd said. i asked her if she could tell how my day had been before i'd gotten to the door. yes, she'd said. and then she asked me when i was going to put this down.

i hadn't thought of it because i wanted to remember my pain. i'd stood there, thinking of what it must've been like for her. how it must've disappointed her that i couldn't've come running to the door, eager to share what i'd learned that day. my mother was a teacher. she loved school. i did not.

i can't tell you that. it's like it's stored in some wreckage that had sunk to the bottom of an abyss. and some unpleasant experience in my day, some thought, something like a passing school bus will trigger it, jostle it so that pieces of it rise up to float on the surface, and i'm not strong enough to carry them to shore and dispose of them.

why would i continue to think this way? because so often, now, i feel as though i'm invisible. in my childhood and adolescence, too many people made a point of noticing me and my flaws. and then it got to be that they'd rather not see me at all. so they don't look, now. they don't care to.

if i'm going into a building and a gentleman's coming out, he won't hold the door. and all i can think is that if i were prettier, he would've. i know this because i'm a people watcher. i've learned how the world works.

and i don't know which is worse... animosity or ambivalence.

what are the first steps to repairing the issue? oh, i suppose it starts with being better to myself. shucking some pounds and keeping tidy spaces. and trying harder to be more courageous.

the first two things are easy enough.

you get what you give, right? i've been given a whole lot of negative...

after i wrote this, i went outside to sit on one of the benches in pappadeaux's parking lot. it made me sad to write it. and i don't cry in front of people anymore. it's gray out today. and breezy. but it was peaceful, sitting out there, with the clouds and the breeze and the quiet.

i came back in, and tinkered some more with this blog. i was looking at the pictures from my project self love post when another of my friends, aidan, came over and badgered me about taking a happier selfie, so...

the thirty-third question

this post is one of many for a creative nonfiction project i began several years ago. i call it the griffin inquisition. i've asked my friends and family to pose questions, things they want to know about me that would require more than a yes or no for an answer.

the most recent addition comes from my friend, stephanie.

what is your spirit animal?

okay, first of all... stephanie and i are like complete opposites. when she offered this question, my reaction was to sort of blow her off. i mean.... spirit animal? seriously? and when i told her today that i thought it was kind of a bogus question (fun, yes, but bogus), she scoffed at that and said that everyone has one and blah blah blah... google it, she insisted. so i did.

and the first thing i saw was this:

and since i LOVE quizzes (and because when i told her of the existence of such a quiz, her reaction was BAM!), i figured what the hell, why not.

my first reaction was CRAP. why can't i be something cool like a dolphin. a wolf? they're alright, i guess. a spider? ABSOLUTELY NOT. and then i read the summaries (and yes, yall, i know not to take it literally.... bogus, but fun, remember?)

it's just that i am loyal, devoted, passionate. my worst fear IS being alone (because that's usually when i have the hardest time combatting the crazy). and yeah... i'm capable of smothering. of dumping. 

i like the spider's summary better. on my good days, i'm more like that than the wolf.

the thing i find most interesting is that wolves and spiders should watch out for each other. like they are worst enemies. how ironic.

steph, by the way, is a hawk. according to the site, they are the messengers of the spirits. adept with language, hawks might be writers or teachers (she's a bartender, studying to go into real estate). their ability to assess situations impartially means that people often seek their guidance before making decisions. brilliant visionaries, they sometimes forget the mundane details of life like eating, sleeping, or paying bills. (the other day, all she'd had to eat was a banana.) she was quite pleased with this result, raising her arms as though flying and making crazy bird noises. and, since she's a seahawks fan...

anyway. so this was interesting.

find your spirit animal here.

random quarter: the west wing edition

september twenty-second. fifteen years ago. nbc aired the pilot episode of the west wing. i was twenty-six. it's kind of fast-paced, this show. it requires you to pay attention. they talk fast. they walk fast. and then all the sudden shit's happening, and if you didn't catch it two minutes ago, then you'll miss quite a bit. but it's not the politics that inspired me to love this program. it's the people. i never get tired of their stories. so... here are twenty-five of my favorite episodes.

season one

one. a proportional response. 

two. the state dinner.

three. celestial navigation. 

four. white house pro am. 

season two

five. in the shadow of two gunmen. 

six. and it's surely to their credit. 

seven. bad moon rising.

eight. two cathedrals. 

season three

nine. bartlet for america.

ten. h. con one-seven-two. 

eleven. hartfield landing. 

twelve. dead irish writers.

season four

thirteen. twenty hours in america.

fourteen. election night.

fifteen. life on mars.

season five

sixteen. the dogs of war.

seventeen. shutdown.

eighteen. the supremes.

nineteen. memorial day.

season six

twenty. the birnam wood.

twenty-one. king corn.

twenty-two. 2162 votes.

season seven

twenty-three. requiem.

twenty-four. transition.

twenty-five. institutional memory.

ten things i like about myself

one. my voice. many, many days over my forty years or so, it has been the one that thing that has kept me sane. i'll sing almost anywhere. when i was little, i'd sing on the bus on the way to school. as an adult, i'll sing while i'm shopping, while i'm working, while i'm walking. anywhere but a stage. i won't do that. and yet last saturday, after mass, i found myself chatting with that evening's choral leader, saying i wanted to join. we'll see how that goes.

two. the texture of my hair. although in high school, i didn't love it so much. my freshman year, it was, at once, every color under the sun. the roots were black; the tips were green. and in between? brown, then orange, then blonde. i swam, okay? and the only the time i wore a cap was in a meet. in my twenties, it wasn't much better. i've taken much better care of it since then, though. it's very, very soft. i like it a lot.

three. my ability to craft a sentence. my brother was quite arrogant about how he looked--just before he'd leave the house, he'd pause in the foyer, grin at his reflection and say, i am a goddamned good looking man. he was right, of course, but being the good, little sister i am, i had to point out how stupid he sounded. he could brag about that. i can brag about this. i'm a damned fine writer. one of these days, some agent or editor's gonna acknowledge this. hopefully soon.

four. my sense of compassion.

five. my generous nature.

six. the color of my eyes. the shape sucks. but the color... i'm quite fond it.

seven. i love my characters. and since i made them up... can that count? i'm saying yes.

eight. my sense of style. i don't always bother with it when it comes to my attire (and certainly not as much when i'm wearing a damned size twelve as i do when i'm in a six... and i swear on all that is holy, i will be remedying this situation soon), but my personal space, my tastes in film and music and literature (and when i have the money, my wardrobe), they're pretty awesome.

nine. tenacity. this isn't always a good thing. there've been a number of times in my life where i've hung on when i should've let go. but... the number of times when i could've let go, when many might've thought i would've let go but didn't, they far exceed the times i should've. i get back up. sometimes it's a bitch to do it, and i might wonder why the hell i bother with it, but i get up.

ten. i hope. even when it seems silly to do so. i still believe in possibility.

linking up with christy at avoiding atrophy.

it only took eleven years... a letter to my brother

but i think i'll be okay tomorrow. i think i've gotten used to this grief thing. of course, the past few years, the folks have left in the wee, wee hours of the morning, flown to colorado, to your grave. to sit on the concrete bench that is your headstone, sip their coffee and chat with you, like you're still here.

it only really sucks, now, when i think too long about it.

all day today, i wondered where the whammy was. in the past, on the day before, the dread takes the day to creep up on me, so that by the time midnight closes in, all i can think of is you.

but today, this morning, the bitch of a migraine i got seconds after i woke consumed my thoughts. four episodes of the west wing, three advil, a long, hot shower and a giant coca-cola on ice later, the pain receded to a dull ache.

i ran some errands. i edited. i ate.

and now i'm sitting here, at this bar with all these people. and i think i'm alright now. i think tomorrow might just be a day.

then again, the folks'll be here this time around. so i guess my okay tomorrow will depend on what i see when i wake up. on whether they'll be okay.

but for right now, i don't miss you all that much. i think i've gotten used to this.