Damned Cutting Boards

I have decided so many times, that one of the foundational issues in the world, is emotional immaturity. I stand by that. To demonstrate: Here I am, pissed off again, being immature I'm sure, about my emotions. What are you supposed to do with them?

For the first time in my life...I am exactly where I am...and will never be here again.

What I mean is, I am excited about my life, in so many ways. However, I am different to myself and to people that I love, in more ways than I sometimes know how to deal with. Furthermore, I'm not always sure that the 'changed' me is honestly me. Other times I'm not so sure the 'me' I've grown up being, is who I truly am or want to be.

I have an impatience with people and with life, that I didn't use to have. I have an intense amount of energy an urgent need to put it to use. Lately, I want to ski every minute of my day, or run or bike or hike, anything that has me outside, using my body. I don't want to sit at the table and talk politics with my family. I don't want to argue over stupid decisions or details like what cutting board I use or how to make burgers (recently encountered topics). I am tired of being micro managed by my mother, and yet sooooooooo sick of being annoyed by her...so what the fuck? What does a girl do with all this energy? What does a person do with all this emotion? I don't want to be a mom, but I find myself feeling guilty for not being available to my nieces. I don't want to be an emotional support or peer to my parents or any other person of their generation, yet I find myself repeatedly confided of information I do not care to know, that lands me in just such a position.

I may be just a Princess, with too many demands on the world. I may be burning bridges as I write this. I may be a selfish little shit with no sense of family or community or the little things that make the world go round. Fine...maybe. I hope that my friends and family can forgive for that. However, I maintain that I want clearer boundaries. I want people to have integrity in their drippy, gooey shit. I want good friends to go play hard with, every moment of my life. I want the rest of my life to play hard, push every boundary of personal limits and seek the life that makes my soul soar.

I am happy. I am in love with my life. I am in love with the people in it. But I feel impatient. I want people to get the fuck out of my way, or climb on and come with me. Whatever, but for the love of god, who gives a shit about the onion on the cutting board? No, really, to everyone who's just devoured and entire meal, caked in onion, I am so sorry that your carrots taste like them too.

oh the anguish

I've been watching my 4yr old niece for days now, as she demonstrates time and again an almost perfect void of emotional editing. When things are exciting, they are THE MOST EXCITING THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED IN THE HISTORY OF THE PLANET. When things are frustrating, they are worthy of being thrown, growled at, kicked, yelled about, etc. When things are not quite as she would like them to be, there is a general, overall meltdown. The possibility of things being any different, EVER with the use of communication and a little help to adjust the situation, do not occur to her yet...why does this feel so familiar?

It amazes me that to this day, I act like a 4yr old. Better yet, that I can see myself doing it, and can't always (if ever) stop it. I am the queen of crisis mode to the point that my cohorts harass me for being a stress queen and it dawns on me slowly, with the utmost self control, that I am rarely trapped in the situations I think I'm stuck in. Ha! I think the only thing age has taught me, is that silence is an amazing tool and power. People think the world of someone who can walk in and be quiet. They will cast upon this silence, all of their worst fears and greatest aspirations. Meanwhile the silent observer could be (and usually is) just wondering what in the holy hell is going on, but a good poker face will fool the best of them.

Whatever people. I can barely keep a grip on y 28yrs of psychosis. Don't give me the silent treatment to add to it.

tidbits and end caps

Just the little bits of weird shit that make their way into my life...here's a poem from a boy who will likely never confirm if it was written to me, but will nonchalantly send it in a pile of others just to see what ignites...
_________________________________________
Kiss drunk

When I find my body in your arms in waking dream am I
Not the kind with elephants or the ones that make me fly.
Rather this dream without slumber
Comes on me like thunder
My body trembles and shakes
For in this little time
I’m out of my mind
And I am forced to wake
I know that I love you,
as strong as my will
But that is a painful pill
___________________________________________
I on the other hand am not so subtle, and this is my 'poetic' response. I do not pretend to be a poet, but I can make words rhyme and occasionally do somersaults...
__________________
lay down

what the fuck is this
these dreams that you whisper
this tortured iron will
and this body that trembles

don’t tell me your dreams
when you won’t press upon them
the weight of my touch
that you won’t meet beyond them

i have kissed your tremble
i have touched your melt
held your shudders
and known what i felt

here’s my heart
here’s my head
here’s my faults
here’s my dread
here’s my hopes of a life i’m afraid to believe in
here’s my fears of a love i’m not sure i’d be leaving

my hearts bursting open
with words from your lips
my will is worn ragged
on misconceived tips

you’re not speaking to me
and perhaps never were
your’re a ghost in your own head
your own knot, your own bur

so go, fight your own fight
on your own battle field
i’m so sick of the glory
for this sword and this shield

i want real
i want truth
i want ground
i want proof

to be looked at and seen
not imagined otherwise
to be met in the middle
not the outskirts of lies

give me courage and longing
the fierce pursuit of my being
give me rugged whole truth
not a fool who’s been dreaming

No Bowl Cuts or Mullets

"You'd be amazed at how easily they succumb to bowl cuts and mullets." My sister confides in me, as though the latest conspiracy overturning the world is directly linked to the favorite hair-do's of our youth. It's my nieces day to get her hair cut, and the instructions given to the patiently awaiting hair dresser, go something like this: "Yeah, just trim it up a bit here and there, take off some shagginess or whatever, just no bowl cuts or mullets."

Ah life in big sky country...where the buffalo roam, and mullets are an honest to god, fear instilling obstacle that must be reckoned with if you intend to raise your children without damaging their psyche in the same manner as your own. Besides, it's always far more entertaining to conceive original torture techniques for ones spawn. I dream of the day when I can repay my children with the humiliations of parental attendance. In the meantime, I take it upon myself to torment my nieces.

Lucky for them, they're too consumed by their own innocence, unknowingly condemning their future pubescent social life, by supplying me and their parents and sooooo many others, with endless incriminating stories to share their middle school and high school crushes. All I have to do is stand by and take note. Mwaaahaaahaaa. Perhaps I sound mean, but rest assured their daddy is already loading his shot gun for the poor, unsuspecting young fools who make the mistake of looking twice at his little girls. I might as well find ways to amuse myself with their inevitable evil teenagerhood, since they won't likely be escaping the house without a chaperon, and I'm likely to be that chaperon.

Grandmas and Grandpas, Aunties and Uncles, siblings and cousins--blood and adopted alike--clear your mantels. Clear your coffee tables and book shelves of my generations bad hair cuts and embarrassing fashion accessories. There's a new circus in town and I am sooooooo glad to be on the wagon that thinks it's all funny and finally off the one that finds it a life or death matter.