Talkin' About an Evolution

Did you once upon a time love reading about my exploits and my excursions? Were you simply using this space to keep track of me and my whirlwind life? Or were you simply needing to giggle about an LA transplant in a slow Southern world? Well, now you still can! Times have changed, and so have I...so swing on over to my evolution.

The Badass Unicorn awaits.

Independence Day

Independence is a slippery word.

Once I was known as wife. Once I was known as girlfriend. Now I am known as me. 

Today would have been my 17th wedding anniversary. Now it is the one year, one month, and fourth day anniversary of my divorce. I find I like this anniversary better. It feels significantly more relevant and there isn't anyone sitting on the couch that forgot to buy me flowers.

Once I was a homeowner. Once I shared a house with a husband and then a boyfriend. Now I live for the first time in a place that is all mine. Well, mostly mine...Iona remains the welcome constant.

It is only right and fair that I now live on a street called Independence Place. That slippery, slippery state of being is actually a place. My place.

Where Did I Run To?

I did the disappearing act again and feel that it is worthy of an explanation. Where the heck have I been for the past 5 weeks? Halfway through a major freaking fundraising campaign for one. But that's not even the half of it, and as of this weekend it will be time for me to slow my roll down for a bit. This means that for the next few months this girl will be running for her health and for her sanity, and not for cash and notoriety.

Over coffee last Sunday morning, Jason looked at my weary frame and reminded me why I was feeling a little deflated. I had just come off a flurry of amazing activities that had literally zapped the energy out of me. Over the course of the past few months we had launched a huge new initiative at work and partnered with an company offshore. I had also traveled to the Philippines twice, Mexico once, Florida for a conference, and a couple fun trips to NYC and DC. Then I was granted the Triangle Business Journal's "40 Under 40" award, and still managed to toss in my 39th birthday...all while conducting a 10-week flurry of fundraising emails, calls and activities for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's (LLS) "Woman of the Year" campaign. 


Everything culminated last Saturday night at the LLS Gala. We won.

I have to say though...that winning felt fabulous. Winning the LLS "Woman of the Year" campaign was both unexpected and thrilling. Don't get me wrong, I do just about everything with the intention to win, but there were some hurdles along the way that made this fundraising endeavor more challenging than I anticipated. It is with sheer humility that I say I couldn't have done this without everyone that contributed time, effort, auction items, and money. To each person that offered up cash...I thank you. To all that donated auction items or helped secure them...I applaud you. To everyone that tolerated my exhausted rants and short temper...I appreciate you. To my dear friends Carl, Brad, Mike and of course Jason...thank you to iContact, Dante, Emily, and Valerie... bless you. (And not in that Southern slightly harpy way.)


It was an absolute honor to run this campaign on behalf of Josh Paryz and his incredible family. Every time I encountered them I was reminded why this campaign was so important. "Boy of the Year"? Seriously, this kid is going to be President someday. Just wait, wait, and see what becomes of this articulate, kind, and already brilliant young man. And Mae, Josh's counterpart in this campaign? She is a beautiful and delightfully elegant girl that will grow up to be an absolute stunner in every sense. That these two children have gone through the pain and turmoil of cancer, is almost beyond words. So to them, their families, to everyone involved...thank you for letting me be a part of this. I am forever changed by knowing you. You now have a warrior on your side in this fight against blood cancers. Just don't be alarmed if I disappear for a bit and take a little nap in the sand. I will return to help fight the good fight.

A Little Reminder

A dear best friend lost his dad this morning. Sometimes we just need to be reminded how gloriously amazing this life of ours is. Be known, be present, be loved.

This is what you shall do: Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body. 

From Preface to Leaves of Grass, 1855
Walt Whitman

Storm Troopers

I would be remiss to classify any of the weekends I have with Jason as normal. Even during our anticipated downtime, we somehow manage to instigate things and converse about things that set the day delightfully topsy-turvy. Nothing is ever expected and nothing is ever, ever dull. Perhaps some of our inability to prophetize is due to our excitement and newness with each other, but it seems more likely that it is simply our two complimentary beings colliding. This weekend was of course, no exception.

On Saturday afternoon we found ourselves gallivanting through Raleigh with our dear friend Amy. She and I are known throughout the Philippines as "The Twin Towers" and also seem to attract chaos, complexity and entertainment at every turn. This human trifecta could only be interesting.

We three had all watched the weather report earlier and knew that precipitation was our future. Sure, there were talks of severe winds and inclement storms and tornadoes, but we took that news with a light-hearted attitude. The last time that the three of us were together in NYC, we experienced unprecedented winds, so we figured there was little that could get blown at us that we hadn't felt before. HA! As Amy later said, our combined personalities seemingly fuel and anger the weather gods. We three have a little Dorothy in us.

With that said, we prepared for the threat of historic storms by bringing coats. 

We should have realized that things were turning for the worse when the outdoor festival we were attending was suddenly dismantled and people began fleeing. The organizers were literally yanking the chairs out from under us. So instead of going home and seeking shelter, we wandered on over to Hargett Street and the Raleigh Times. The skies opened up during our one drink there, and then there was an eerie clarity and silence. Now I grew up in Wisconsin and have spent many a time cowering in a basement, so I know what that means. The tornadoes are a coming. So we used that little break as a sign that we should walk down to The Landmark Tavern. 

Now the Landmark holds a special place for Jason and me. We never fail to be memorable there and I seem to find my relationship courage at the bottom of their glasses. Most nights find us huddled together and animatedly discussing the future of the world and our place in it. I've had some of my most lucid and life-changing conversations within those walls.

So it was rather apropos that on those barstools we sat watching the weather on the TV and on our phones. We were still in denial of our doom, so we kept laughing about the pending non-event and telling tales of our prior weather adventures. Then it actually began around us. 

We could physically feel the pressure change, and then the winds picked up, the electricity went out, and there was debris whipping around past the windows. All of a sudden the doors blew open and needed to be bolted shut. It was slightly past 4pm and became pitch black outside. Dorothy and her merry men be warned. Once the tornado sirens began, the bartender calmly and loudly ushered us all into the women's bathroom where we stood together under candlelight with drinks still in hand. Of course everyone brought their drink. If you are huddled in a bathroom with people you love, you might as well have a good cocktail to toast with.

The storm went past quickly and left its path of destruction through downtown and throughout North Carolina. 22 people died and 13 counties are now considered to be in a State of Emergency. For all those that lost something or someone on Saturday, you have my thoughts. 

I certainly don't discount the severity, but I can't help but think...just a typical weekend...just a typical Sarah Saturday. And I love you both for sharing it. 

Technicolor Daydream

A little over a year ago I received a Match.com email that changed things. It changed everything.

It is fair to say that at that point in time, my allure with online dating had begun to wane. Initially I had jumped into the process with great trepidation. I had tested the waters in Fall of 2009, retracted my profile at least 5 times, got involved, got confused, recovered, and had then decided to wait out the holidays away from the Internet. Dating for the first time in over 17 years was unexpectedly complicated. I had somehow gotten entangled in several relationships that were each proving to be unfulfilling, and that was making me a tad crazy. I wanted what I didn't have. So back online I went. 

In January of last year I reactivated my Match profile and hoped for the best. I was immediately bombarded with emails and winks, and soon became overwhelmed with the entire situation. It seemed as if I might have to quit my job and disown all my friends in order to have enough time to properly wade through the correspondence and weed out the crap. Instead, I just started pouring through the masses. Initially there was a feeling of obligation and I actually attempted to respond to each request. After awhile, I simply started ignoring everyone that obviously didn't read my profile.

It was apparent that many men looked at the pictures and maybe my occupational/salary level and thought I was worthy of a discussion and perhaps a date. Other than the fact that we were both breathing, our compatibility ended there. Seriously. If I say, and I quote, "I run fast, work hard, talk openly, and thrive off learning and doing new things. I am very much IN THE MOMENT. I want someone that can keep up with me, as I have apparently limitless energy and require little sleep!". 

If I say these things...and I DID say these things in the first freaking paragraph of my profile...If I say these things, do not think that we will get along if you love your couch like a brother, find solace in silence, and want a "good little quiet Southern woman". I am not these things. Not now, and not ever. 

So after a couple months of a lot of email exchanges, many first dates, more than a few uncomfortable or bizarre encounters, I had become rather ambivalent with my Match.com affair. As my friend Rain so eloquently said, "I've had enough learning and character building. I want fuzzy warm things now".

And then the email came. It was short, it was succinct, it was obvious this person had read what I wrote. I liked what he said, and I liked the pictures that came along with the words. But I was more than a tad suspect. He lived more than 2 hours away, he was much younger than me, and he had a son. Perhaps I thought I could still learn a few things. I was obviously still willing to risk for love, so I responded and the dialogue with Jason began. 

Shortly thereafter we met for the first time over brunch. 368 days later I am living the most intense technicolor daydream. It's been fast, and furious, and aggressive, and volatile, and absolutely without question...amazing. It's NEVER boring. It's calm when it should be, and complicated when it needs to. It's everything flamboyant superimposed on everything mundane, and I've never known anything else like it. I remember each of the last 367 days clearly. I remember because they are vivid and bright. 

They are a rainbow in my head and they are in Technicolor.

The Incredible "Boy of the Year"!

Purposeful Progressions

Studies have shown that people with a purpose live longer and happier lives than those that don't. While I feel I have a very fulfilling life, I have often longed for that "thing", that someone or something that is outside the bounds of my good place. I've participated in volunteer events, I've been a positive influence on my community, and I've donated my fair share of absurdly expensive clothes that I really, really thought I needed and never wore. But I never really felt that I was giving back to the extent I knew I could.

So when a couple people I trusted and liked brought me a purpose on a platter, you might think I would have readily jumped. Instead, I faltered. I stalled, I hemmed, I hawwed, I paused. Then I considered. Did I really want to undergo a massive endeavor that would take up a big part of my life for 10 weeks? It would force me to depend on others for assistance! It would cause me to reach out and ask for help! I could possibly not raise the most money and thereby fail! And I would be making a big difference in the lives of others, be able to get all my friends and family and local community involved, and potentially be personally impacted in a major way. Got it. Not such a hard decision.

Here we are three weeks into a competition that will last until May 19th. We've done a lot, and have tons left to do. The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (LLS) "Woman of the Year" campaign really is like a second job. You think about it all the time, and find yourself strategizing how and where you can do more, find more, and get more people involved. Most of the time, we just have to ask.

Throughout this process, I've had an opportunity to honestly talk to people that I hadn't before. I've heard stories about how cancer has literally changed their lives. Thanks to the LLS I have also met Josh Paryz and his delightful family. Josh is 7-years-old and will soon be celebrating his one year anniversary of cancer treatment for acute lymphoblastic leukemia. I am fortunate to be sponsoring Josh as part of the LLS campaign. He is a remarkable survivor with a protective and supportive family that truly inspires and energizes. They provide a purpose.

Earlier this week I recieved a beautiful letter from my paternal grandmother wherein she recollected the moment she learned that my grandpa had chronic leukemia. I was so taken aback after reading that. How do I not remember this? Yes, I was just a child when he died, but how do I not have top-of-mind knowledge of this? I was initially mortified; then I was motivated. Yet one more piece of the purpose.

I am so touched by the support of all those who have already generously donated to my campaign on behalf of LLS!  Thank you for helping me improve treatment options and save lives!  If you have not yet donated, it’s safe and easy to do so here.  Every single dollar makes a difference. Be part of the purpose. 

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Florence is the Machine

It was a year ago that I borrowed the words of Florence and the Machine and posted them here. I remember that I felt so good at that moment; I felt so liberated from the clutter and the nonsense that had permeated my existence. I had made some tough decisions that week that absolutely turned my mood and my outlook in the forward direction. Most of those decisions had to do with self-respect, and personal appreciation. You have to have it, to give it. You also have to be willing to take some risks. And I believed I was ready.

"Happiness, it hurts like a train on a track
Coming towards her, stuck still no turning back
She hid around corners and she hid under beds
She killed it will kisses and from it she fled
With every bubble she sank with a drink
And washed it away down the kitchen sink

The dog days are over
The dog days are done
The horses are coming so you better run." - Florence and the Machine

It was during that March week of a year gone by, that I started the process of extracting myself from relationships that wouldn't move forward, I re-engaged with the gym, food, and work at a healthier level, and I updated and re-posted that bipolar beast known as my match.com profile. Those few things started a chain reaction that propelled me forward to today... 

So with a grin of relief and delight, I accepted the song that came blaring out at me around 6.15a this morning. There she was. There was Florence and the Machine reminding me to remember what I have done and where I have come. Reminding me of where I am. Right here. Now. Happiness. Just accept it and run. Some things are not worth hiding from. This is happiness.   

2010 is a blur...an awesome technicolor high-voltage blur. I will divulge much of my indulgent sojourns and moments of reckless abandon in good time. But let's just say the past 12 months have been life-changing, and I am no longer wanting to turn back. Let those horses come, because I am a'running.

 

Where Is Your Encouragement?

Most days, my initial shot of encouragement arrives by 6am. It comes fast and hard and without apology. It comes faster on days when my cycling instructor also happens to be a triathlete and training for something. Like this morning.

There were no breaks "out of the saddle" today. There were no subtle increases to gently move you from your flat road into a progressive hill. There were no intervals to shift the pain from one muscle group to another. No, no, no. Today was about endurance. Painful, long, fast, steady, seemingly never-ending endurance. Get on, get in, and get moving.

Why do I want to start a Wednesday with such an assault? It's only at this time of the day that I can effectively push my often running brain back far enough, and let my legs and lungs take over. My head is rarely quiet, so it is during these times when I can finally concentrate only on the task at hand. Periodic peace is not a bad thing.

I hear the music; I hear the faint yell of instruction behind it. My legs burn, my shoulders ache, my brain hums...there is no better way for me to start a weekday. Encouragement.

I admit that this is not for everyone. There is a certain breed of human that arrives at the Y around 5.30am to hurt and get yelled at. We are not like those that show up for the evening cycle classes. We are not there to socialize or to just get a requisite workout in. (And yes, I am generalizing.) We see each other every day, yet we know no names and barely speak to each other. We are not casual observers and there is rarely a novice in the room. 

There was one exception today. There was a woman in the corner that I had never seen before. She was very overweight and visibly struggling with the intensity of the class. But she hung in there. She stuck with the class until the end, and this was not a class to be taken lightly. She made me recall my first cycling experience and how I thought I might die from exhaustion, pain and embarrassment.

I hope she is there tomorrow. I hope that she comes back on Friday. I hope she knows that she is doing a great thing, and that she has support amongst the focused group. I hope she knows that she was awesome today. She was encouragement.

A Perfect Day

"There's something sinister in place; it leaves me restless with no peace. 
So it's a perfect day to turn away and run; it's a perfect day to go and tie one off.
It's a perfect day to waste away a perfect plot to play.

"It's a perfect day to hide down in my house; it's a perfect day and it's taking its toll.
It's a perfect day to waste away your perfect part to play.
Just another perfect day, but before you know it's gone." - A Perfect Day - The Constellations

It's a perfect day to play this part again.
It's a perfect day to get these words out of my head.
Just another perfect day.

There are so many reasons why this is the day...the day that I resume this little venture. It's the 2nd Month of the Year of the Golden Rabbit, it's been almost a year since I inked my left wrist, it's been way, way, way too long since my voice wasn't simply playing to an audience of one.

More importantly though, I feel like I again have things to say publicly. Ah, that's wrong. I should say, that I once again feel like it is RIGHT for me to say things aloud. In 2010 I felt it was best to stay silent. I felt raw and judged and often emotionally reckless. I tossed myself with abandon at things and people, and finally accepted how and who to let in, and when to let go. I was awaiting my long-overdue divorce, and was entering into a new and surprising life that I wasn't sure how to properly explain without exploitation. I did these things in an ultimately gratifying way. It was not always a perfect day.

Well, my hesitancy is gone, my friends! My new life and my new love have been forewarned that things often get screamed to the masses. It's been almost a year now...so the rants, the raves, the passion, the pounding on car hoods, and the  drunken revelations still probably arrive in a sometimes unexpected flurry...but I doubt they are taken poorly, and I know they are never taken with angst or anger. I no longer feel misguided or misjudged. It's a perfect day. 

I have good things and good people to talk about. I have stories that seem endless. I have heartbreaking recollections that now often sound amusing. I have inspiration from a 7-year-old with leukemia and a cause. I have motivation from a stunning man that challenges, protects, defies, and is at all times an equal. That he also provides wildly entertaining material that keeps me laughing in surprise, is my pinnacle. I have a purpose-driven life. I have this perfect day; I will not waste this perfect day.

Put a Little Love in Your Heart

Last year several fantastic people I know had their hearts broken by someone that they loved and trusted. In several cases I sadly watched and supported. In others, I only heard about the stories after-the-fact. And in one...I lived it. In each of these situations the pain was all too raw and real. Surprisingly though, most of us have come out on the other side with a renewed appreciation for the person we are, and a much better understanding of the person we want to share our time with. And in all cases, there has been a fair amount of wine and laughter as we've discussed the brutal reality of the who, the what, the where, and the why...the why the hell did all this happen.

It is, and will be, a little expected that we all carry some animosity and suspicion around this "little thing called love". No surprise that a heart can heal, but it rarely completely mends. At least it doesn't alone.

It is with great joy then, that I get to recall the amazing weekend I recently had. My little sister got married. My little sister got married. My little sister got married...in JAMAICA. I certainly will not taint her day by recanting the mess her first husband left her with. Instead, I will relish in the phenomenal life her last husband is sharing with her. They are pretty damn awesome together. 

It was a beautiful day, with beautiful people, on a beautiful beach. I loved every minute of it, and I am so grateful that I was there to experience it. My sister probably doesn't realize, but this wedding was a gift to me. It reminded me that the mistakes we make with one person don't have to be repeated. It proved that there is a better person out there than one might expect. And it gave me the chance to happily and lazily spend 4 days with someone that I travel well with, laugh with, and simply enjoy being with. There is a strange comfort that comes with happiness. But we will save that story for another day...

Most importantly, I shared the day with my fabulous rockstar parents - the Drinking Diva and Party Gary - and some awesome new friends. 

Congratulations Elizabeth and Jason! You both deserve a lifetime.

The Beast Within

This is an Iona posting. If you don't love the Iona Pig, then I suggest you move on. I also highly suggest that you learn to love Iona, if you have any plans of me liking you. Yes, that includes the inevitable times when she is mean and bites you in the hand. You must still love, to be liked. 

Recently several friends and I participated in the local SPCA Dog Walk. I've done this event before, but never took Iona with me. Let's face it, my dog is spastic. My dog is also 11 years-old, a cancer survivor, and has bad hips. A walk amongst several thousand people and their dogs has just never seemed like a good idea. But then my "Bad Idea Bear" not only spoke to me, he built her a wagon...and all reason was lost. 


When most people see Iona they think she looks like a stuffed docile teddy bear. This facade usually remains until she does something awesome like violently charge a dog twelve times her size, or face-plant onto the concrete after sky-diving from the safety of her little red wagon. 

She is mine though, and I love her dearly. The way to this girl's heart is certainly through her dog...and perhaps a gnome or two thrown in for good measure. Oh, I like unicorns too. And pirates. Hmmmm...let's not forget about rubber ducks either...

Guardian Angel

It's been a few weeks now, so I feel like I can post this without getting too much flack from those that love me. Trust me, I know that I deserve all the flack you want to instill upon me. Perhaps a hug would also do...
 _____________________________________________________________________
It is Monday, March 15th and I am drafting this post about a revelation I had last evening. I am not certain when I will actually set this message free, because I know it will deeply worry some people. Therefore, I need to put some distance between the event and the knowledge of it. Right now it is a little too raw for me, and I think I would be uncomfortable if someone asked me about. Maybe in a few days, a week...whenever you are reading this...I will have come to terms. 

I was in Virginia last night. I met a friend for dinner in Greensboro and then decided to hear him play at an open mic event in Martinsville, VA. I knew it was going to be a challenge on a school night, but he seemed worth the lack of sleep I knew would be inevitable. I wanted to hang out with interesting people that evening, and he and his friends seemed like the right crowd.


He is an outstanding drummer and I truly had a lot of fun watching and listening to him play. We then hung out for a couple hours afterward...literally just driving around and talking. I felt like I was back in high school as there was such an innocence about spending time together with someone in that capacity. Nothing more, nothing less; just talking and enjoying the company of another.

I left around 2.30a...way, way later than I had intended. I was tired, a bit wired, and completely sober. I thought I was doing okay driving alone on the dark roads, when the sheer exhaustion just hit me shortly after 3a. I convinced myself to keep driving until 3.30a, and then stop somewhere for gas and a short walk. I opened up the sunroof, cranked the music, and kept going at a nice steady clip of about 90 MPH. This is the way I love to drive, and I felt damn good about it. Drive on.

It was about 3.17a when I must have fallen asleep. Not just a "snap your head back, eyes shut for a second" catnap, but a full-blown fast asleep while driving moment. I woke up as my car was entering a steep embankment and bouncing across the grass towards the guardrail. Snap awake, eyes open, loud noises, damn, damn, damn...Instinct kicks in. Faster pussycat. Yank steering wheel and veer from the rail immediatley on my right and back the opposite direction, Large sign inches in front of me. Grassy mound ahead of me and now the car begins to tilt. Damn, damn, damn. Pay attention pussycat. Pay some freaking attention. Snap back.

I honestly and terrifyingly thought my poor VW was going to flip. Grass, guardrail, sign, hill, metal. Grass, guardrail, sign, hill, metal. Road, where the freaking hell is the road???????? Control. Find the control pussycat. Get. Your. Shit. Together. Now.

Everything happened so fast. It was loud, and visual, and nauseating. As I finally came back onto the freeway, I literally threw the car in park and just sat and breathed. Perhaps hyperventilating is the better word. There were no lights or other cars anywhere in sight. I was certain I had hit the guardrail, as the noise was still reverberating in my head. I thought I should have a flat tire.  I could smell my brakes and the awful stench of rubber. I didn't think me or the car could drive. But we did. Drive pussycat. Drive to safety and figure out how f'd up you really are.


I don't know why I didn't just get out of the car there to inspect the damage. "Miss Instant Gratification" should have done so. I just needed to drive away from that spot. NOW. My hands were shaking, my heart was pounding and I was on the brink of tears. I could have been on four blown tires and I would have kept going.


My first thought? WTF am I going to tell Allstate? I had JUST gotten my vehicle back the week before after having side-swiped a parked Escalade and incurring $5000 worth of repairs. This damage was going to be on the same freaking side they JUST FIXED. Damn it, I am an idiot and now Allstate is going to know it.


As I pulled into the nearest gas station I contemplated who I could call. Who would want to hear from me at this ungodly hour if I were going to truly be stranded? Do I have any friends that would drive to Virginia to get me?


I walked around to the passenger side of the car to look at the mess I had made. I just stared. Shock and awe overtook me. I stood there under the bright fluorescent lights for what seemed like an hour. Then I cried. A shocking and sudden force of tears just rolled down my face. Stare. Cry. Moan. Hold it together pussycat.

There was not one scratch on my car. Not one freaking scratch. I had managed to narrowly miss the guardrail completely. I don't know how. I don't know the hell that was true. I could still HEAR myself, FEEL myself, SEE myself hit that damn guardrail. I could still feel the car try and flip. Apart from the massive amounts of grass and dirt I found in my wheel wells and stuck in my grill, you wouldn't know that I had just gone through the single most frightening moment of my life.


Something or someone is trying to tell me something. Slow down. Wake up. Reassess. Prioritize. Too many risks; not enough self-preservation. Second chances rarely roll into thirds.


Every time that singular moment of waking up pops into my head, I get cold. My heart starts pounding and I feel fear. Guardian Angel...you are screaming...and I hear you loud and clear. Pull it together pussycat.

The Writing on the Wall

Yesterday was all about disclosure...whether on the Facebook wall or on my wrist. Yep, I finally succumbed to my desire to ink my skin. I'd considered it for awhile, and now just seemed right. This is my year for doing things my way, the right way, at the right time...

"The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed". It's the first line of The Gunslinger, the first volume of the epic journey that Roland Deschain travels in the Dark Tower series. The book made a lasting impression on me the first time I read it, and that one line has continued to spin inside my head. There was simply no question that this was what needed to be on me.

In The Gunslinger, (as in Browning's poem, "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came"), there is a feeling of anxious meaninglessness coupled with an anxiety that nothing is stable or reliable.

"The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed". In the middle of an empty landscape filled with empty people, the Gunslinger has a purpose. He has direction. He is the last of his kind, and his mission gives him substance and holds his narrative world together. He is the glue at the center of things.
 
(I stole that perfectly worded interpretation from a Strange Horizon's blogger named David Higgins.)

So onto the fun stuff...my dear friends were there with me yesterday to help me endure the pain and to share in the moment. The postable quotes came fast and furious, and so we divided them up amongst the three of us. Here are just a few of the remarkable ones...there are many more that we didn't/couldn't post and so many others that we couldn't remember once the laughter and tears stopped.

• Carl: "Spontaneity should be something you can sleep off."
• Sean (my cute tattoo artist): "Those are dating rules to live by...open sores are never good."  
• Sean: "Don't worry about the shaking. I know the difference between voluntary and involuntary. Just stop thinking about it, or you'll shake more. And besides, I'm holding you down."
• Me: "I want to tell all the people, 'I am not a cutter'! Damn, I look like I spent some time in the ER after a fight with a razor blade."
• Brad: "Did you just feel the gay go by?" Me: "Oh yeah, I just felt the gay."
• Brad: "Was that the weight of her ass that just made your fork settle on the plate?"
• Me: "He's young. When he leaves me messages, he tells me to 'holla'." Brad: "Sweetie, you ain't no hollaback girl." 
• Carl: "Lordy, lol. I thought that was just between us and all of Glenwood South."
• Carl: "I just came into a cupcake inheritance. And it is good."
• Carl: "I feel so old."
• Me: Hahahaha...BTW, spellcheck wants hahahaha to be 'Haitians'.

And so I have direction. I have purpose. I have some anxious meaninglessness. I have a swollen and sore wrist. I also have a reminder of my purpose visually available to me at all times. And...I have written public documentation of the entertaining journey that got me there. 

Party of One, PLEASE!

So my intention today...no wait that was yesterday...was to start a Match Monday posting. Yeah, I am on match.com. Let my pride take the tremendous hit it deserves NOW. BAMN. Smack it, I am online dating.

I think I'm attractive. I know I am educated. I realize I have a fabulous job and a good life. I believe I am in good shape and am healthy. So.....yeah. I'm 37. Yep, not 27, but 37. And 37 turning into 38 in just a couple months. 

I met my first husband in a bar, so it seems right that I not repeat that one again. Yeah, we were married 15 years... but I expect that dating at 52 is even harder. I should probably try other avenues; hence the online dating thing.

I have always said that I love getting older. I am so much more confident and fabulous and with it and just plain more together, year-over-year. I like myself more at almost 38 than I ever did in any of those 20s. I do actually turn heads and get picked up on. BUT, there is that freaking damn NUMBER. You need to input that number into match.com and I am too proud to lie. I should lie. I might need to lie. Boys kind of freak when they learn that I am the almost 38. If I don't look it...why is it not a good thing? I am too young to be a cougar and I am not classically a MILF. So I am simply what...? Too old? Too young? Arghh.

So, I did not start Match Monday. That will have to wait until the calendar turns again next week. In the meantime, I was distracted by the census. Yes, I said the census. There is something about the archaic nature of "The Census must count every person living in the United States on April 1, 2010". Why archaic? BECAUSE THEY SENT IT IN THE MAIL AND IT HAS STANDARDIZED TEST BUBBLES. Actually it has boxes, but you get the point. MAIL!!! NOT INTERNET.


In 2010, the Census is not done online. it is mailed, (did they not hear the news about the USPS possibly needing to cut back hours or go bankrupt?????). Nothing online. And it is possible that you can add up to 12 people in your household. Now I love the census even more. Somehow, this mundane and ancient thing has made my day, There are those out there that get to fill out this amazing box-filled piece of paper for 12 people!!!!!! I am envious. I only get to do so for one. Me. One. Uno. It. Only I live here. Hmmmmmmm.....that is a good thing. It is okay to be one. 


Party of one. Add a corgi...still party of one. Eh, who cares? Party of one. 
I like my one box.

A Little DIY in the DNA

Once upon a time it was the Year of the House. A rigorous twelve months focused around renovate, rebuild and repair. Then came the Interval of Me, (otherwise known as the Age of Bernie).  A painful nine-month process of personal redefinition and recovery. My own restoration took less time than the structural, so it seemed appropriate recently to refocus some of my concentration on the walls around me. Literally. 

For the past year I have had significant moments of annoyance over the molding gaps that exist between the living and dining room areas. If you recall, there used to be a substantial separation there, until we decided to take down that pesky little wall. For some idiotic reason, the picture and crown is slightly different on either side. And even more idiotic, we didn't check that before pulling the wall down. So, the moldings are still different and I was becoming more and more frustrated with how to solve this perplexing problem. 

We had already added some molding caps that made the disparity less obvious, but there were still some wide-open spaces that just made me perceive the rooms weren't "finished". And if you know me, then you know that this was making my OCD tilt hard.

Now the obvious thing might be to pull out some power tools and finish the job. Well, I've been instructed not to use such tools that could easily maim me or cause further damage to the House. And rightly so, I might add. I like to be able to do things myself and do them well...and when that doesn't happen I can get easily frustrated. And frustrated with sharp power tools seems like a really bad idea. Particularly when there is no one else around to aim them at. 

So, I took a different route and found something less dangerous. I found stickers. To be more precise, I located a company that takes fabulous art and transposes it onto heavy vinyl adhesive pieces. You cut and apply them in any pattern that you want...and I wanted a pattern that hid gaps. Let's just call this magical. Magic that required a ladder, some grumbling, a helpful corgi, (it would only have been better if she had thumbs...and less fur...and didn't step on sticky things with said fur), and some creativity and patience. YES, I SAID IT! I USED CREATIVITY AND PATIENCE. BITE ME ALL YOU HATERS, I DO HAVE SOME :)

More importantly I now have art with a purpose. And I did it all by myself...without hurting anyone, or anything.

The Invisibility Test

For the most part, I've been on a steady upward climb in 2010. Not to say that some weeks haven't been met by a rock slide or in some cases a complete tumble backwards, but I've always managed to dust off and go again. Most days I feel pretty freaking awesome.

So why then go invisible to the masses? Why delete the blog? Stop the notes? Avoid questions? Stop answering emails? Selfishness, of course. Pure, unapologetic selfishness. It needed to be all about me, baby. 

I love my family, adore my friends, appreciate the unknown readers, respect the lurkers, and value my coworkers, extended family, and new recruits. I also welcome any and all comments, as they keep me energized. Some of the notes and emails I've received from people have literally kept me pushing forward another day, or made me contemplate the goodness that exists in my life. And from many of you...I've realized how lucky I am to have you as a part of my place...as nothing is as inspiring to me as mutual motivation. For that I thank you.

But things all aren't pretty, are they? For the manipulative, my writing was a way to locate my weak spots. To exploit the turmoil that I was going through and feed off of it. For some it was a way to find out what and where Michael was, and to interpret things about our relationship that just weren't there. This isn't a "Where's Michael" game. If you want to know what's happening with him, then ask him. If he answers, then he wants to talk. If he doesn't, then let it be. Because this my friends, is all about me. Yes, he is and will continue to be a big part of it...and yes, I will someday write about the dirt in a cathartic fashion. But don't misconstrue; these are my words, and my life. 

Let's throw some stuff on the table again, just so the playing field is even. Michael and I have been officially separated since July 2009 and are planning to file for divorce in July 2010  (thanks NC for your mandatory one-year waiting period). There were months last year that sucked harder than anything either of us have done before, and hopefully we will individually never endure pain like that again. Some things you forgive, but you never, never, never forget. 

We are friends now and talk often. There are weeks that we see a lot of each other and get along swimmingly. Other weeks we keep our distance and just play nice in the sandbox when necessary. I think I can say for both of us though, that this is a good place for us to be. We have separately moved on with our lives; yet expect the other person to always be a piece of it. No longer the heart or the core; but perhaps a limb.

So there you have it. My invisibility cloak is off. If you want to know about me, my life, and what the heck I am choosing to do with it...then this is your place. If you have other nefarious intentions, then by all means keep reading and judge away. Just know that you'll have better results by going straight to the source. Take your own cloak off, and go to the source. This one is all about me.

Dog Days are Over

Well, I can finally say it...I AM BACK. Back with a vengeance. Back with compassion. Back with conviction.

"Happiness, it hurts like a train on a track
Coming towards her, stuck still no turning back
She hid around corners and she hid under beds
She killed it will kisses and from it she fled
With every bubble she sank with a drink
And washed it away down the kitchen sink

The dog days are over
The dog days are done
The horses are coming so you better run." - Florence and the Machine

Stay tuned, as I have some stories to tell. Some funny, some sad, and all real. The transition is never-ending, but I am learning that the happiness is deserved.

What do You Call IT?

IT is not an arbitrary quest. IT is not something I came upon lightly. IT is my level-setting and IT has a name. IT is called a reset of my inner compass.

I started reading this amazing book about a week ago and I found myself reflecting on all the errors I have recently made with my personal life. Not detrimental ones mind you, but simply things that are deterring me from my true path. I won't divulge the name of the book here, because unless you are a woman and newly single, you may scoff at it a bit. With that said, if you ARE in fact female, dating, and finding it a tad frustrating, please let me know and I will happily share.

The book deals mostly with the decisions we make and the reasons behind them. It provides great and simple clarity around why we succumb to temptation and how to avoid those that don't lead us to the highest and greater good. While there are several portions that resonated with me, there was one in particular that hit home. Hard. Like bricks.

Allow me a bit of paraphrasing please..."What you're missing is an inner compass when it comes to people: a reference point for how you live that you don't violate, no matter what."

"Your inner compass should contain all of the information you need in order to make a good dating judgment call. That way, you don't give away your heart, soul, and body to the wrong sort of person, setting yourself up for emotional devastation."

"...set that compass on due north."

Ah yes, it is so much simpler to just give into the nonsense that guided the dating of my 20s. For good or bad, I am no longer in that generation or in that mindset. So, consider this a proper reset. A positioning of my inner compass, and pointed straight to the North Star. If you happen to come upon me, be prepared, because I certainly am.