in a perfect world

Upon first entering the café your senses are rushed with the sweet rich smell of everything chocolate.  Hand rolled truffles of all kinds sit on trays in little rows inside the glass display case.  Perfect balls of chocolate heaven resting in their paper wrappers just waiting for you to pick them to eat.  Bittersweet, cocoa beware, Aztec, kalua… delicious orbs that melt into your mouth taking you to a level of sweet culinary ecstasy rivaled only by that of the coffee beverages that are sold just feet away in the same establishment.  The café is warm and invites you in from the cold sidewalk.  The lighting is soft and the hardwood floors and soft chairs that your body just sinks into make for the perfect atmosphere.  As I sit and type, sip my coffee and gaze out the window at the cars passing by, the aroma that wafts into my nostrils is just fabulous.  My chocolate coffeehouse hideaway is like the hug I needed after my day.  It wasn’t a horrible day but I could have used a hug.  I feel better now.  Whether it’s that I’m not at work or that I’m taking some personal time to just write or whether it’s the coffee I’ve just had I don’t know.  It’s been quite the last few days.  I woke up this morning to find that 4 more arson fires had been set in my neighborhood making the total over the last 3 weeks 10.  Since moving into this area about 2 years ago, I’ve embraced it as my own.  Aside from the cul-de-sac house I grew up in, I’ve never felt like I belonged or really liked for that matter, the neighborhoods where my many apartments have been.  I love this area! So as I sit here and look out the window, I see across the street one of the businesses that was set on fire earlier last week.  I’ve walked past that guitar shop many times.  It makes me sad.  I don’t know whether or not it’s because my family has personally been affected by fire or not, but it’s angering to me that someone could do that to someone else’s livelihood.  I just don’t get it.  The barista guy working just sat down in a chair 3 feet away from me.  He’s watching a guy standing on the street corner outside the shop.  We started chatting, the barista boy and I about this neighborhood we both love.  He sits vigilant to protect his shop; I sit watching now too, writing and chatting with him and trying to figure it all out.  In a perfect world filled with nothing but chocolate coffeehouse hideaways and hole in the wall pubs and used bookstores and good people, this sort of thing wouldn’t happen.  But like the book title that I once loved said, “Nothing’s Fair in 5^th Grade” and so we sit vigilant and enjoy the people we love, the simple pleasures in life, and do our small part to better the world.  For better or worse, it is what it is.

cycle of self

It’s not their fault they look like that, I used to say.

One boy in particular in elementary school comes to mind.

Curly hair, soft spoken, a little odd.

I found a fondness for him, a kindred spirit if you will.

Mocked, for reasons unknown to me, we both endured.

I never got it.

Why would you do that?

Physical abnormalities you could call them.

His curly hair, my being tall and awkward.

Things we could do nothing about.

Yet almost torturous we dealt with the laughs, the words.

The many words that stung.

Tired of standing up for myself, my focus turned to him.

My words were strong.

On his behalf I stood, bold and unmovable.

In my own way, this was on my behalf as well.

Masked slightly but standing in for the same efforts.

To make fun of someone for things out of their control,

I cannot understand, I simply do not.

To what purpose does it serve?

Then it came to me,

Insecure in their own skin,

Anger turned sideways,

Aimed outward.

It’s nothing more than a cycle.

They were mocked therefore they mock.

It takes looking beyond your own pain to see the pain in others.

In their meanness, inside their rage, inside their unthinkable behavior,

I simply feel sorry for them.

It’s sad though, that it takes having to build up a thick skin to realize this.

hiding in the light

We smile for people we ought not smile for.  For they care not for us. 

We act a particular way for those we ought not pretend for, for they care not as we care.

We love in certain ways those we ought not love.  At lease that’s what we’re told.

 The world thinks in mysterious ways.  It thinks not like we do.  It thinks to preserve itself, in selfish ways.  Anything not out to give to it, it wants nothing to do with.  Things to it that seem foolish, that’s where we ought to be.  In harms way, in the scary places, in the dirt and grime of everyday life that isn’t pretty or fragrant.  But we hide.  We hide in the light. Because it’s easy to pretend to be what we aren’t. 

 As was once so poetically written in a song I love… this is the last time that I smile for the sake of being with you.  Simply put, it means stop hiding in the light and behaving not as you truly are.  I think no truer words were sung.

dreams from the past

it would seem that i once started a dream log, cataloguing random dreams i had had. it must have been at least a year ago! anyhow, i re-read them and actually laughed out loud.  right now i’m sitting in a coffeehouse in my neighborhood and audibly laughing out loud at dreams i had a year ago.  directly in front of me is a table w/ people who gather weekly i guess to play some sort of game, to my right is a table w/ 3 guys speaking japanese and doing homework, on the couch directly behind them is a guy in a hat reading the Seattle Weekly and next to him @ a table is a business man of some sort.  so as i sit here and write and sip my mocha w/ my fellow Seattlites… enjoy my dreams…

 ***It was snowing.  Our family had moved from the house in Edmonds to a space in a church.  Almost like an annex for the pastor and his family to live in.  And, we were all living together again, all the Taylors plus Scott.  I don’t remember much about the living quarters except that mom and I were trying to figure out the arrangement of furniture in the common area.  We each had our own room areas but shared the kitchen and living room and dining room.  And the carpet was the same exact white shag carpet we used to have in the Edmonds house in the living room.  Down the street from the place where we lived was a theater.  But it was a sports theater.  The inside was decorated like a casino but it served as a movie theater to watch all the big sports games like the super bowl.  All my friends were going there to watch the big game.  I was invited but only because I hinted that I wanted to tag along.  We all had a big table in a special room.  It looked almost like a conference room but that wouldn’t make sense in a theater so it was probably not.  Anyhow, no one would talk to me during the game.  And when they all left, they ignored me.  They made eye contact but then turned slowly away.  I walked up the hill to the new house in the snow, crying.  The next day I had to drive to work.  The outside looked like the Corolla but the inside looked like the inside of the old Buick that my parents had, red velvety like fabric.  So I was driving and I was stopped at an intersection and the hood of my car started to curl in almost like it was melting.  But there was no smoke or flames.  People pointed but no one would help me.  I pulled into a parking lot and got out just in time for the hood to be almost completely curled and warped off the car.  A guy in a van or something drove up and within minutes had restored my car and I was off to work.  When I thanked him and looked up, I saw all my friends from the night before standing on the sidewalk with other on-lookers and they just stared. No one offered to help, they just whispered and walked away. 

 

***I still lived above the garage and nothing had been done to it to renovate it or upgrade it.  It looked just like it did when I first lived up there.  I was playing video games with Jess and Sarah Neilson of all people.  I went down to the kitchen in the house to get us snacks.  I brought them back up and realized I’d forgotten something.  When I stepped back into the kitchen there were sparks and blue lights swirling inside mom’s new oven.  Then a it started to expand like it was filling with hot air or gas or something.  I screamed for Jess and Sarah to come down and when they got to the kitchen I had my arm over the stove and had gripped the back of the oven and was attempting to pull it away from the wall.  The only thing to do to keep it from exploding and destroying the house was to unplug it which required moving it away from the wall.  With some odd demonstration of strength I managed to pull this thing from the wall just as it started to explode.  It only emitted a small amount of gas and steam.  It knocked me over but the house was saved.  I called mom and dad to tell them what had happened and Jess and Sarah promptly went back upstairs to play their game.  I sat in the kitchen and cried. 

 

***Julie had just been hired at Underwater Sports and was working up with me and Mike.  The 2 of them had decided that I had formed a dangerous addiction to coffee and wanted to send me to a treatment facility in some other state.  They tried to do a sort of intervention in the office.  Mike had written down a list of exact times when I spaced out and was distracted from my work.  He timed them apparently with the times that I either took sips of my coffee or went to make more.  He handed me the big post-it notes with the times written down and handed it to me.  They both claimed they were doing it in my best interest but I thought that this was part of their big scheme to oust me from the office.  I started to cry and started arguing with Mike.  My hair was a mess, I was wearing my gray hoody and pajama pants it looked like.  I was a mess.  I started babbling about how Mike was just as distracted and spent lots and lots of time on the phone with non-work related things and so my being distracted was just due to staring at a computer screen all day and I coped with it by drinking coffee and he chatted on the phone.  Julie tried to rationalize with me that she’d be willing to drive me to the treatment center and Mike said he’d pay for gas.  They were treating me like I was addicted to meth or something.  I left the office hysterical.  I think I even quit my job because I felt so betrayed.  I started waking down the street.  Only it wasn’t the street outside the shop but rather the parking lot of a giant apartment complex.  Julie drove in her car slowly right beside where I walked trying to reason with me.  Then I woke up. 

overcoming

upside down.

nothing makes sense,

emotions are running rampant and and crisscrossing and exploding out.

self doubt then hate then hurt then laughter,

all at a situation that isn’t funny at all but that’s all you can do.

now there are no more tears.

there are no more words.

just a feeling of empty.

a still small voice,

shouting through the chaos of your mind.

it reminds you,

man’s ways are not God’s ways.

you will be alright.

so you get up and pace yourself for what lay ahead.

there is no promise of swift ease, there is no promise of a painless finality.

but with resolve, you walk on.

life.

skeletons vs. respect

i had an interesting conversation earlier this week with a friend regarding respect.  she used it in a way i never really had considered. 

we were talking about our families and what’s going on in our lives right now, the basic girl catch-up type conversation.  you know, the ones that must take place before the real important stuff can be discussed, such as will the bridesmaid dress still fit or why must men behave the way they do sometimes or does it hurt cats when they have sex.  i kid you not, this was actually discussed. anyhow, as we were talking, she was talking about her husband TJ, who has been my friend since we were in pre-school together, and she mentioned his reaction to something.  a reaction that i’ve often felt but thought it was just me being strange or something so i’ve kept it to myself for the most part.

perhaps it’s us being the oldest siblings or perhaps it’s just our personalities being what they are (we’re pretty alike), but there seems to be this strange phenomenon that happens around us.  to us it feels like we’re being kept out of the loop, left out, not trusted.  and it conjures up frustration on our part and a confused state of mind.  basically, there are times when those close to us keep things from us.  i’ve had friends and family members who have had major stuff happen in their lives and tell others, but not tell me.  so has TJ.  so why don’t we get told?  from the perspective of the ‘injured’ party, it seems like we’re not ‘inside the circle of trust,’ or we are just kind of after-thoughts or that we’re perceived as being super judgemental.  which is frustrating and at times hurtful.  as i was sitting on the couch with my her, she was telling me that she thinks it’s a respect issue.  not that they don’t respect us, but more that they respect us so much that they’d rather not disappoint us so they don’t tell us.   i honestly had never looked at it like that.  to me, i want to know what’s going on in the lives of those i care about.  if they’re in trouble or struggling with something or need help i want to know about it.  i might not be able to do anything but at least i can offer a hug or a support or say “I love you” and then have a discussion about the issue at hand.  i want to be able to live honestly and realistically with my friends.  if they do things that i’m not into i don’t want to be left out of the their lives simply because of that.  a month or so ago i was hanging out with a couple friends.  we ended up after dinner going back to one friend’s apartment.  i was told to wait in the hallway until they cleaned some stuff up.  when i entered i was thrilled they’d done that because even still, it was most definitely a bachelor pad and i was clearly in man land.  but that’s not what bothered me.  it was the drug paraphernalia that they cleaned up.  i appreciate the gesture i suppose.  but i’m not stupid.  i know this one friend smokes weed.  i’ve known for some time.  and they did a poor job of hiding the evidence.  so why bother hiding the stuff?  it made me irritated all evening.  i tried to get over it.  were they hiding it because they were trying to girl-ify the place?  did he not want me to know?  was he embarrassed?  was i not trusted with this information?  do i come off as a prude and he was just trying to avoid a lecture he thought would come?  my frustration quickly turned to being hurt.  and i’m not sure why.  i think it was partially because they couldn’t be themselves, wholly who they are in front of me and i’ve long thought that i was a comfortable person to be around.  with some friends, our lives are open books but with others, not so much.  so i’m at a loss for words as to what this all means.

everyone has ’skeletons in their closets’ and everyone has things they are not to proud of.  but i’ve always been one that wants to live life how it is.  why sugar coat things?  right?  so when my friend brought up that maybe the reason this kind of thing happens to me and to TJ, it truly is an issue of they don’t want to lose our respect.  so if that’s the case, is it something we are to get over or is it something that those who leave us out, need to be more mindful of?  i’m not sure.  i do know that it’s given me something to think about for sure.

freedom’s response

i once wrote that i’ve got this new found freedom. a personal freedom to decision make without fear of retribution from people.  a personal freedom to not care about the petty and unimportant junk that clutters an already too fast moving and all to short life.  a personal freedom to ‘eat my eggs’ how i like them and not cater to those i’m trying fruitlessly to impress.  a personal freedom to re-introduce myself to me.  but with freedom comes consequence.  consequence not in the negative sense but rather just in that with every action comes a response. 

one thing i’ve found is the freedom of learning to let go. letting go of the notions of grandeur i’d foreseen in my life isn’t always easy.  we all form ideas of how we see things playing out, of how we’d like situations and relationships to evolve, or where we see ourselves not only now but in the future.  and when those things don’t look like they’ll happen or when people act as people often do, with free choice… our visions often must change.  realizing that you’ve leaned on a relationship or the idea of how you thought one was or would be or should be, but realistically isn’t… well, it’s hard.  letting go is truly hard.  letting go doesn’t always mean the end of something.  it means another round of freedoms being discovered not only for the idea or person  you’ve let go of, but also personally. but in the meantime…

my egg moment

there is a scene from the movie “Runaway Bride” that closely represents where i’m at in life right now.  Maggie (aka:  Julia Roberts) is confronted with the fact that she has no idea what kind of eggs she likes.  she just sort of adopts as her favorite, whatever kind her current boyfriend happens to like.  eventually she is confronted and told plainly that she makes no decisions for herself, or rather, forms no opinion on certain things, to make life easier or for whatever reason she may have.  when she breaks up with the most recent boyfriend, she decides she WILL determine what kind of eggs she herself likes best.  she makes a small plate of each kind and begins her journey.  she ends up with the realization that eggs benedict is her favorite and she hates all other kinds of eggs. 

in a way, i’ve been like that.  there are things i’m opinionated about for sure, but there are moments where i just kind of meld into what the majority wants, or i ‘like’ things because someone else does and vice-versa, or i do things because that’s what someone i may like, likes.  and like Maggie, i don’t even realize i do that.  i’m not sure exactly what the defining moment was (i have a vague idea, but i’ll keep that private) for me but sometime over the weekend, i just had this sort of wake up call.  i did a lot of purging and cleaning and organizing of my stuff.  and it was so liberating!  i dropped off 5 bags of stuff to the thrift store.  and in a way, this was the beginning.  as i sorted and decided what stayed and what got donated, i did a lot of thinking and clearing out of my mind. 

i’ve never been a sheep.  i don’t follow just for the sake of following trends.  but i do like to please people (which in and of itself isn’t bad), and sometimes in the process, i lose myself.  i’m not sure where this came from either.  it’s like i’ve had this secret stash of likes and dislikes and opinions that i know about but no one else did.  this new feeling has been very refreshing.  i was trying to verbalize this new sensation i’m feeling to a friend the other day and this is what it boiled down to for me:  i’ve chosen to not care.  not in the sense that i don’t care about people or causes or my faith and what-have-you, but more in meaning that i no longer care if someone is taken aback by the fact that i think different politically than a huge chunk of the general population.  or that i’m no longer going to sit around waiting for someone to take notice of me whilst i pretend to be certain things that i’m not, ultimately wasting my time. 

i could go into an exhaustive list of what’s been liberating for me, but that would be boring and tedious.  all i know is that being true to myself and using this new found (or just dusting ‘me’ off again) freedom will allow me to tap into my gifts more, to utilize my skills and passions for the good and benefit of others, and to truly calculate what’s important and worthwhile.  woot-woot!

driving

she sat there reclined, her feet up on the dash watching the picturesque scenery zoom past them as they drove back down the winding and mostly deserted road.  he took another causual puff of his cigarette and blew smoke out towards the cracked window.  they drove in silence for a good chunk of time, listening to music and enjoying the afternoon.  the sky in front of them was a beautiful mix of the last of the day’s sunshine and dark menacing clouds moving in to push the sun into final surrender.  the silence was nice.  it was the type of silence that comes from the comfort of quiet happiness, contentment and being truly at ease with the other person, which is rare to find.  the music that swirled about their heads was like their personal soundtrack, giving a mellow and c’est la vie vibe to the end of a perfect day.

the art of boy tipping

yesterday i got called out for “tipping over” the boys i work with.  basically this means, from what i gathered, is that when they dish it out, i dish right back, and that i’m feisty which leads to them being ‘tipped over’ and have no clue how to respond.  love it! 

i’ve long been accused of these things and a lot of the time, i’m completely oblivious to it.  however, i’ve begun to work on honing this craft into a fine art.  i love ‘tipping the boys’ over.  my personality naturally leads to feistiness and outspoken-ness, which may be different from the girls they are used to dealing with, but it’s who i am and i can’t change it.  i will say, i quite enjoy when on purpose, i can tip them over and leave them wondering what on earth happened. 

i’m careful to not commit too many random acts of flirtation with those whom i have no intention of having anything reciprocated.  i used to say that i was pretty forward and that you knew if i liked someone.  i might have been lying.  i’m a pretty transparent person but ‘liking’ someone, well honestly it confuses me and i have no idea what on earth to do with myself and these crazy things called valid emotions.  so, i do nothing in hopes that subliminally i can send them ‘i dig you’ brainwaves and then miraculously they will absorb them and then the wooing can begin.  this rarely happens though, hence my current situation.  sadly.  but the one thing i CAN do on purpose, is completely fluster and completely disorent the boys.  and it doesn’t even matter the age.  it’s like my sick sad game.  sad indeed.  and i quite enjoy it!

i think overall, i’m just an instigator of mischief.