Happy Endings are for Fairy Tales

•October 27, 2016 • Leave a Comment

I spent far too  much time day-dreaming, devouring romantic Austen-esque novels, imagining — maybe not the cliche “knight-in-shining-armor” — but some kind of happily-ever-after with a man who understood and appreciated me.

And then it seems I became impatient and let myself be caught-up in a simple and terribly worthless pleasure-for-the-moment. I was so lost in the forest of modern-day selfish thinking that I completely forgot what my life-goal was.

Now I am paying a harsh price for my sins. The harsh price is called “reality” and I’ve cried so much and so often over it that all of my tears are dried up. I look back at the thoughts of five years ago and can’t help but laugh sarcastically at all of my drama and angst. What a silly little girl.

And this might be more drama, more angst, but today I feel trapped within a cage of marriage and poor mental health, unable to even walk down the street by myself. Unable to run, unable to enjoy solitude. Hating myself.

My solace is my beautiful son. And it’s true that not every day is unhappy or joy-less. There are little sparkles of gratitude and wonder and love. Perhaps I let myself drown in self-pity and resentment. I must continue to struggle out of this trap. Things will get better, they have to. They must.


I would like to grade papers, but my brain won’t focus

•September 22, 2011 • Leave a Comment

I would like all of this to stop.


And what could I say that I haven’t already said over and over again? My problem is that I allow myself too much time to think about it.

There are times at which I absolutely CANNOT WAIT ANOTHER SECOND for things to be different. I am so impatient for change that it becomes painful.

And then there are other things that I hold on to with a vice grip. I strangle them.

It is so very easy for people to say that God has a plan — a wonderful, beautiful story for my life. But when I feel THIS way, those kinds of statements seem like great ironies. Like, HA! Joke’s on YOU! And to avoid feeling like a pit of deep, pathetic dispair, I bury my heartache under the sleeves of my skin and the soles of my feet, where I can only feel it if I move a little too quickly. And MAN, when that happens, it hurts — does it EVER. So I end up moving v-e-r–y s-l-o–w-l-y and people mistake that for an extreme lack of motivation.

Listen, people, listen.

I WANT to feel joy in others’ joy. I want to be truly selfless, to feel empathy and genuine compassion. Sincerely, sincerely. Why can’t I do it?? Why can’t I take myself apart, pull the stitches away from my little heart muscle and just find where that REAL love is? The unconditional stuff? It’s gotta be there, right? So where is it?


Oh, somebody help me.


From Our Next Episode

•August 17, 2011 • Leave a Comment

Life like a classical romance: discord, smolder(s), hope, proposal, rejection, (several ineffectual) revocations, longing, realization, and finally one amazingly sweet and gentle kiss to finish it off.

Too bad there is such a thing called reality.


Stay Tuned for Scenes

•August 16, 2011 • Leave a Comment

How does one begin to heal from the batterings of everyday? How does one rise above it? Can I continue to look in the mirror each morning and grin despite my lack of self-assurance? A matter of humility. A matter of constancy. Day in and day out.

Someone said to me just this past evening: Everyone of us has a right to claim, “They can’t understand me and my struggles. No one has suffered in the same way that I have.” Perhaps in a strange way that can bolster us up. Or we can say individuality is such a constant curse; no other human person will understand us and it’s true for many — I can say especially for myself — that we barely understand ourselves. Is understanding so vital? Does it bring peace?

So… sufferings, longings, moments of joy and years of patience. Of waiting. Decades spanning the horizon of — just making it through one day at a time — doggedly but with hope. This is a kind of stubborn hope, wherein the wearisome and heartsore stuff of life is made to fly under the radar, just barely in one’s peripheral vision; there, but not named. Not spoken out loud.

Poignant. Bitter. Striving.

Dumb Ass Move #5

•May 11, 2011 • Leave a Comment

Remember — I’m always reflecting on memories because my own memory lacks so much clarity — how hard it used to be to organize your thoughts into words — sentences — paragraphs — monologues — conversations — ? You would struggle, paw around your mind to wade through single letters, single words and confusedly arrange and rearrange. Language was one enormous billion-piece puzzle and even before you knew how to fit one to another, there always seemed to be those obnoxious two or three missing to complete it.

Yet — and yet, there was always, ALWAYS so much purpose to the words, sentences, thoughts you were trying to convey into coherence. You had a single-mindedness to what you meant, what you wanted, and nothing was going to stop you from reiterating your meaning, even if it meant using crazy hand-gestures and your own extreme pattern of body language to put your point across and gain understanding. Like lighting a little spark to the candle of someone else’s brain or finally connecting the dot-to-dot to form a picture that clearly visualized your meaning, the end was satisfying.

But now, today, you have in your possession a well-oiled, well-worn maching of language making. You can spew the finest-formed string of adjectives, nouns and verbs the world has ever seen. At the top of your tongue lie tiny modules of sound just waiting and ready to create the beautiful syllables of structured sentences, refined words, luminous monologues and meaningful conversations.

And yet. Even with all the purpose, meaning, WANTS and NEEDS battering against the back of your skull to tell me with all these beautiful and refined tools of language that you struggled so long and hard to grasp — can you — can I — find the right words to tell you what I think and how I feel?

How Great You Think You Are

•March 24, 2011 • Leave a Comment

I thought great thoughts:

Why people are so insincere, so single and self-minded and I patiently exercised patience. I understood easily the difference between a glorious heaven and the glorious passions of earth and I easily overcame the weaknesses of simple mortals. It took me merely an afternoon to contemplate and conquer the imitations and deceptions of intellectuals.

I blinked

And a sparrow flew down and dropped divine inspiration into my open palms.

I gave barely a whisper of command and the wind rose up and shoved clouds away from the sun to warm my skin.

A synapse snapped in my brain and a seraphim with six pairs of wings all burning rubies appeared to satisfy my hunger for knowledge and conversation.

Because I speak with angels.

In my spare time.

Oy Vey. The things you said.

•March 24, 2011 • Leave a Comment

It’s today.

And in this semi-quiet moment I’mdreaming of lonlieness — a genre, a theme of mine.

To be just myself beside a window, a doorway, one deep-blue shadow across the pavement, across the pillow, my own ear pressed against the music that I chose and no one else.