Longing, we say, because desire is full
of endless distances.

--RH

You’ll be nothing then, nothing but an average lawyer who went to an average school who lives an average life.  

confession.

Sometimes I want to just be a little woman. And I want you to be stronger than me and calmer than me, and I want you to be bigger than me and know more than me and be able to just sort of handle me. I want you to help me open a jar or a heavy door; I want to be unable to do those things without you. I want you to take care of me. There. I said it.

"Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life."-SJ

2012 is all about blondes from faraway lands.

relationships.

So may relationships to work on in this life.  Your relationship with food.  Your relationship with alcohol.  Your relationship with your body.  Your relationship with your work.  Your relationship with yourself. 

At the root of any functional relationship, though, is love.  It's actually that simple.  If we could just be mindful of that always.  If only. . .

Such a pretty boy

I could come up with so many excuses for why I acted the way I acted, because I’m not like that, and you’re just a kid, and I’m like, in a different category than you and like, ha, that is just absurd, you know?  Like totally fucking absurd.  I’m all a lawyer and you’re like, a child and like, I’m all fancy and you’re just an adorable dork.  Like, wow, like, I must have been wasted because there is like, no reason I would act like that.

Like wasted.  And I didn’t eat.  And I was just trying to make friends and fit in and this place is so hard and life is so hard and I should maybe talk to a shrink because I’m not acting like myself.

But…here’s the thing.  Here’s the fucking thing I fucking realized today.  If I quiet my mind and I quiet the world and I just shut the fuck up it’s actually quite a lot simpler than all of that:  I like you.  That is all.  I fucking like you a lot.  That is why I acted the way I acted.  I like your smile and I like your soft voice.  I like the way you trip over your feet oozing in sincerity.  I like the soft way in which you take total control.  I like the way you apologize profusely when I spill coffee on myself.  I like your mind. 

It is mind-blowing and cathartic to admit that I am just that simple.

I’ve abandoned writing lately.  It’s been a crazy year.  High highs, very low lows.  The kind of year you’d think would be a perfect canvas for all kinds of cutting and bristly poems.  All kinds of prophetic and poetic revelations.  And yet.  Nothing.

Nothing because, as I’ve realized, feeling the urge to write is a luxurious feeling.   It’s a delicious feeling.  It means not only that you feel, but that you feel inspired, and that you feel as though there is something about that feeling that is worthy of being shared.  It’s braggartly, if you will.  Poems are so pretty, so ostentatious.  Even the poems about heartbreak.  Especially the poems about heartbreak. 

Writing means you endorse your thoughts.

---

"One of the things I've repeated to writing

students is that they should write when they don't

feel like writing, just sit down and start,

and when it doesn't go very well, to press on then,

to get to that one thing you'd otherwise 

never find.  What I forgot to mention was

that this is just a writing technique, that 

you could also be out mowing the lawn, where,

if you bring your mind to it, you'll also eventually

come to something unexpected ("the robin he

hunts and pecks"), or watching the FARM NEWS

on which a large man is referring to the "Greater

Massachusetts area."  It's alright, students, not 

to write.  Do whatever you want.  As long as you find 

that unexpected something, or even if you don't." 

--Ron Padgett

Forgiving myself. Finally. And completely.

I love my innocence.  And I love that the harshness of the world still shocks me.  I love that I stupidly trust people who shouldn’t be trusted.  I love that I see the sexiness in the most abhorrent of men.  I love that when I drink too much, I tell everyone how much I love them.  I love that I fall asleep at bars.  At work events.  I love that I tell men that try to help me home that they are a “jerk,” and that I can take care of myself.  I love that I fall down a steep flight of stairs immediately afterward.  I love that I refuse to believe that the world is a bad place.  I love that, despite everything I have in this world, I sometimes still feel so inadequate that I drink myself into a stupor to feel comfortable.  I love that I cry in front of strangers.  I love that I sometimes need a man’s attention to feel good.  I love that I can’t do it all alone.  I love that I need you.  I love that I need God.  I love that I need hope.  I love that I will find a positive way to spin even the worst of things.  I love that I can’t admit that I feel alone.  I love that sometimes, I do feel alone.  So alone, that the aloneness suffocates me.  I love that I will not give up on the goodness of life.  I love that my body doesn’t look like everyone else’s.  I love that my hair doesn’t look like everyone else’s.  I love that I have only been with one man in my life.  I love my cellulite.  I love my round cheeks.  I love my big ass.  I love my beat up, pretty little feet.  I love the two dimples at the small of my back.  I love the big bruise on my left arm.  I love the blemish marks on my cheeks.  I love my fleshy knees.  I love my theatrical, obsessive, dramatic personality.  I love my openness.  I love that I love too hard.  I love that I’m afraid that everything will fall apart.  I love that something deep within me truly believes that it won’t.

Person A:  I just don't understand why I can't meet anyone.  


Person B:  Because you hate yourself.


Person A:  Oh.