Thursday, March 31, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
Love Letter.
Dear Parker,
On the eve of you turning 5 years old, (actually, in 20 minutes it will be midnight.) I got the inspiration to write you a letter. You’re sleeping now, snoring just the tiniest snore. From time to time, I watch you sleep. Your chest rises up and down gently with each breath. Your breathing, more often than not, sends me to sleep. Like a neighboring lullaby just close enough to perceive and feel. After I finish this, I will lift you up from your “bed” on the floor (blankets upon blankets, 4 pillows, 2 stuffed animals!) and I’ll place you in bed alongside me. Even when you’re not here for the night, I position your pillow beside of mine. You are an immeasurable comfort object to me. Occasionally, I wonder if our roles have reversed.
It’s peculiar for me to believe that you will not remember much from these days of your life. Looking back, I recall bits and pieces of my 4 year old self. Mostly minute things. Injuries. A frightening experience. Haphazard things that had no significance. If you remember anything at all, I hope it’s the way that my love felt. Larger than the ocean, stronger than the thickest steel, everlasting and undeniable. These days, you and I talk and talk and talk until you can’t talk anymore. But trust me, you can. You always have words to say. You are unlike any other 4/5 year old I’ve ever met or even heard about. Everyone says how intelligent and sophisticated you are. I am bursting with pride, continually.
I keep asking you “Can’t you just stay four forever?!” and you’ll laugh and say “Mommy, I can’t. I gotta grow up. That’s just what happens!” And then other times I’ll say “Parker, will you be my Baby forever?” and you will say “Even when I’m old. Even when I’m 192 and you’re an old woman. I’ll always be your baby.”
I know it might be silly, but I think we have a bond unlike most other parents’ bonds with their children. We are connected, attached. I want to reveal to you all the paramount parts of this world, not just pacify you until Kindergarten and beyond. I plan to experience things WITH you and learn along your side. Nothing on this Earth is better than viewing the world through your eyes.
When you’re reading this, I can’t envision what age you will be. Certainly a teenager would cringe and throw this paper onto the floor. 20 something? Would you even comprehend it then? Maybe I will show you this the night you embrace your own newborn baby, the night your heart swells up and spills over, filling your entire being with the love I feel for you now. (and always will.)
I am having a challenging time with allowing you to grow up. You are my miniature Best Friend, for now. There are issues I sincerely regret, such as not ending up with your Father. That’s a hurt right now that still stings me profoundly, deep inside my core. I’m dealing with that now, ongoing and rebuilding. Truthfully, I wished for that for you. The happiest of cheerful families, that unattainable unit you read about in books or see in the movies. I know, it’s crazy. But, I just wanted to give you It All. Currently, it’s just the two of us. I’m okay with that. Dissatisfied at times, and lonely, yes, but, we are enduring and living and for right now, it seems… right.
My love has developed for you, each year, each day, each hour. I can’t even glance back into my past and see if I loved you this amount, as much as I do now. I can’t imagine that I did, though I loved you with everything in me from the first night I met you. I recall the nurse carrying you to me, and I had not a clue what to do with you. It was just the two of us. I carefully laid you on my chest, and you slept. I could feel your warm heartbeat on top of my own. I was 21 years old, and I thought to myself “Oh wow. So this is what LOVE feels like.”
Even now (the clock just struck midnight. You are five now!), You will ask me to “hold you like a Baby”. And I do. You will suck your thumb and snuggle up as close as you can. You take the deepest sniff of air through your nose and say “Ahhhh, the Mommy Smell.” Sometimes you’ll drift into hazy slumber. Other times you’ll pretend for a minute or so and then burst out laughing when I catch you with one eye open. We laugh the best laughs together.
These are the times I won’t forget. The days I get all to myself, because you will never remember. But this letter.. I hope that it illustrates all the love and devotion that I pour into being your Mother. Out of all the things I could (and want) to be in this world, that is the most rewarding.
You are my light in life, my Sweet Baby. Happy 5th Birthday.
I love you, “bigger than Jupiter!”
On the eve of you turning 5 years old, (actually, in 20 minutes it will be midnight.) I got the inspiration to write you a letter. You’re sleeping now, snoring just the tiniest snore. From time to time, I watch you sleep. Your chest rises up and down gently with each breath. Your breathing, more often than not, sends me to sleep. Like a neighboring lullaby just close enough to perceive and feel. After I finish this, I will lift you up from your “bed” on the floor (blankets upon blankets, 4 pillows, 2 stuffed animals!) and I’ll place you in bed alongside me. Even when you’re not here for the night, I position your pillow beside of mine. You are an immeasurable comfort object to me. Occasionally, I wonder if our roles have reversed.
It’s peculiar for me to believe that you will not remember much from these days of your life. Looking back, I recall bits and pieces of my 4 year old self. Mostly minute things. Injuries. A frightening experience. Haphazard things that had no significance. If you remember anything at all, I hope it’s the way that my love felt. Larger than the ocean, stronger than the thickest steel, everlasting and undeniable. These days, you and I talk and talk and talk until you can’t talk anymore. But trust me, you can. You always have words to say. You are unlike any other 4/5 year old I’ve ever met or even heard about. Everyone says how intelligent and sophisticated you are. I am bursting with pride, continually.
I keep asking you “Can’t you just stay four forever?!” and you’ll laugh and say “Mommy, I can’t. I gotta grow up. That’s just what happens!” And then other times I’ll say “Parker, will you be my Baby forever?” and you will say “Even when I’m old. Even when I’m 192 and you’re an old woman. I’ll always be your baby.”
I know it might be silly, but I think we have a bond unlike most other parents’ bonds with their children. We are connected, attached. I want to reveal to you all the paramount parts of this world, not just pacify you until Kindergarten and beyond. I plan to experience things WITH you and learn along your side. Nothing on this Earth is better than viewing the world through your eyes.
When you’re reading this, I can’t envision what age you will be. Certainly a teenager would cringe and throw this paper onto the floor. 20 something? Would you even comprehend it then? Maybe I will show you this the night you embrace your own newborn baby, the night your heart swells up and spills over, filling your entire being with the love I feel for you now. (and always will.)
I am having a challenging time with allowing you to grow up. You are my miniature Best Friend, for now. There are issues I sincerely regret, such as not ending up with your Father. That’s a hurt right now that still stings me profoundly, deep inside my core. I’m dealing with that now, ongoing and rebuilding. Truthfully, I wished for that for you. The happiest of cheerful families, that unattainable unit you read about in books or see in the movies. I know, it’s crazy. But, I just wanted to give you It All. Currently, it’s just the two of us. I’m okay with that. Dissatisfied at times, and lonely, yes, but, we are enduring and living and for right now, it seems… right.
My love has developed for you, each year, each day, each hour. I can’t even glance back into my past and see if I loved you this amount, as much as I do now. I can’t imagine that I did, though I loved you with everything in me from the first night I met you. I recall the nurse carrying you to me, and I had not a clue what to do with you. It was just the two of us. I carefully laid you on my chest, and you slept. I could feel your warm heartbeat on top of my own. I was 21 years old, and I thought to myself “Oh wow. So this is what LOVE feels like.”
Even now (the clock just struck midnight. You are five now!), You will ask me to “hold you like a Baby”. And I do. You will suck your thumb and snuggle up as close as you can. You take the deepest sniff of air through your nose and say “Ahhhh, the Mommy Smell.” Sometimes you’ll drift into hazy slumber. Other times you’ll pretend for a minute or so and then burst out laughing when I catch you with one eye open. We laugh the best laughs together.
These are the times I won’t forget. The days I get all to myself, because you will never remember. But this letter.. I hope that it illustrates all the love and devotion that I pour into being your Mother. Out of all the things I could (and want) to be in this world, that is the most rewarding.
You are my light in life, my Sweet Baby. Happy 5th Birthday.
I love you, “bigger than Jupiter!”
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Still.
Several things on my brain today:
1. I am having major twinges of guilt. This is a recent occurrence in my life. The Best Friend said she was “flabbergasted” that I felt this way. To hear of me not wanting to hurt someone’s feelings, or my refusal to be cold hearted and malicious. It will take me a while to adjust to this new me. (and everyone else will need some time too, apparently.)
2. I’m not enough, period. Inadequate. Foolish. Dim-witted Girl.
3. I am obsessed with a song by the Civil Wars. It’s so pretty, and I really just love the feeling it ignites inside of me.
4. Being in the presence of my Best-Friend-In-Love, is completely different than being around my Best Friend. Not in a bad way, just ODD. Both of my closest friends are now in committed, healthy, Happy relationships. It’s lovely to see. I keep tossing away feelings of being legitimately lonely. I despise confessing any form of fragility.
5. Still [Stil]:
Adjective:
- remaining in place or at rest; motionless. to stand still.
- free from sound or noise, as a place or persons; silent. to keep still about a matter.
-subdued or low in sound; hushed. a still, small voice.
1. I am having major twinges of guilt. This is a recent occurrence in my life. The Best Friend said she was “flabbergasted” that I felt this way. To hear of me not wanting to hurt someone’s feelings, or my refusal to be cold hearted and malicious. It will take me a while to adjust to this new me. (and everyone else will need some time too, apparently.)
2. I’m not enough, period. Inadequate. Foolish. Dim-witted Girl.
3. I am obsessed with a song by the Civil Wars. It’s so pretty, and I really just love the feeling it ignites inside of me.
4. Being in the presence of my Best-Friend-In-Love, is completely different than being around my Best Friend. Not in a bad way, just ODD. Both of my closest friends are now in committed, healthy, Happy relationships. It’s lovely to see. I keep tossing away feelings of being legitimately lonely. I despise confessing any form of fragility.
5. Still [Stil]:
Adjective:
- remaining in place or at rest; motionless. to stand still.
- free from sound or noise, as a place or persons; silent. to keep still about a matter.
-subdued or low in sound; hushed. a still, small voice.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Ridiculous.
I, for some reason, receive these really outlandish astrological emails. My only guess is that someone signed me up for them as a prank. I have attempted to block them from coming to my blackberry more times than I can count. Mostly, they freak me out. From today’s email:
Kaleena, The Universal Protector Must Be In Your Possession Before April 2nd.
Dear Kaleena, it’s now way after midnight and I’ve been thinking all evening about how I can alert you to a rare planetary occurrence on April 2nd. I feel the need to inform you that you may want to surround yourself with extra protection on that day, as there is a higher than usual risk of negative planetary energy impacting on our planet because of this occurrence.
There is a high risk of minor events suddenly going out of control. For example, routine actions could be transformed into blown-up conflicts, while careless actions could be transformed into major incidents.
Okay. Yeah. So this is a scheme to scare me into buying some ridiculous something or other called : The Solid Silver and 24 K Gold Universal Protector.
What freaks me out about it is this. WHO is sitting around creating this shit? Who has the occupation of terrifying thousands of paranoid grandmas and 20-something single females into purchasing these factory made trinkets of good fortune and security? WHAT IS THIS JOB TITLE CALLED? Really. I have so many inquiries regarding this topic.
This isn’t what I intended to write about today, at all. But it correlates in a way, I suppose. Or at best I’ll thread it together with bread ties and scotch tape. It’ll do.
The point is, somewhere out there someone is believing in this nonsense. But can I judge them? Is this any inferior than the lies I tell myself every day? I don’t know. I like to consider myself as sharp, but when it comes to believing things in an ignorantly blissful nature, I am guilty.
What am I using as my Solid Silver and 24 K Gold Universal Protector?
I am my own enabler. I entitle it dreaming. Or possessing an imagination. Or just the capacity to think BIG THOUGHTS. I splash blame onto others; they’re monotonous. They are simply unable to see the bigger picture, the potential.
I panic to my Mother: You can’t just place me in a box, Mom. I can’t do it. I won’t do it.
I say to friends: I don’t know. I just can’t envision having a Real Job. That sounds so repulsive, like stifling suffocation. Do you think that’s for me?
I shriek at my ex boyfriend: YOU did this to me.
I think to myself: Grow up. And Fucking soon.
But here’s the deal, before I can sort through any of this.. Before I can take a step into the shitstorm I’ve hoarded, and toss out the self-enabling rubbish… I’ve got to figure out what to do about April 2nd. I know, I know. Funny. But maybe i'll just sleep the day away. JUST IN CASE.
Kaleena, The Universal Protector Must Be In Your Possession Before April 2nd.
Dear Kaleena, it’s now way after midnight and I’ve been thinking all evening about how I can alert you to a rare planetary occurrence on April 2nd. I feel the need to inform you that you may want to surround yourself with extra protection on that day, as there is a higher than usual risk of negative planetary energy impacting on our planet because of this occurrence.
There is a high risk of minor events suddenly going out of control. For example, routine actions could be transformed into blown-up conflicts, while careless actions could be transformed into major incidents.
Okay. Yeah. So this is a scheme to scare me into buying some ridiculous something or other called : The Solid Silver and 24 K Gold Universal Protector.
What freaks me out about it is this. WHO is sitting around creating this shit? Who has the occupation of terrifying thousands of paranoid grandmas and 20-something single females into purchasing these factory made trinkets of good fortune and security? WHAT IS THIS JOB TITLE CALLED? Really. I have so many inquiries regarding this topic.
This isn’t what I intended to write about today, at all. But it correlates in a way, I suppose. Or at best I’ll thread it together with bread ties and scotch tape. It’ll do.
The point is, somewhere out there someone is believing in this nonsense. But can I judge them? Is this any inferior than the lies I tell myself every day? I don’t know. I like to consider myself as sharp, but when it comes to believing things in an ignorantly blissful nature, I am guilty.
What am I using as my Solid Silver and 24 K Gold Universal Protector?
I am my own enabler. I entitle it dreaming. Or possessing an imagination. Or just the capacity to think BIG THOUGHTS. I splash blame onto others; they’re monotonous. They are simply unable to see the bigger picture, the potential.
I panic to my Mother: You can’t just place me in a box, Mom. I can’t do it. I won’t do it.
I say to friends: I don’t know. I just can’t envision having a Real Job. That sounds so repulsive, like stifling suffocation. Do you think that’s for me?
I shriek at my ex boyfriend: YOU did this to me.
I think to myself: Grow up. And Fucking soon.
But here’s the deal, before I can sort through any of this.. Before I can take a step into the shitstorm I’ve hoarded, and toss out the self-enabling rubbish… I’ve got to figure out what to do about April 2nd. I know, I know. Funny. But maybe i'll just sleep the day away. JUST IN CASE.
Friday, March 18, 2011
melting.
I am fucking distracted.
I have walked around numb for three days now. Just not feeling anything, frozen. More “oh that’s nice.” and “I see.” And “I am trying to pretend like I give a shit, but it isn’t fucking working. I’m sorry.”
Maybe I’ll marry a surgeon. He’ll discover me perfectly suitable, once he extracts my foot from its permanent dwelling in my mouth. A lot of men perceive me as Perfectly Suitable. I can’t appreciate why girls settle for that. I don’t know. I just Can’t settle. For anything less than THIS IS IT. All capitals. Permanent marker. Tattooed behind my eyes and burning into my skull. Yes, that.
I’ve realized that I’ve never actually been in love with anyone. There’s been unrequited, yes. Lust. Purely sexual adoration and longing. Obsession. Idealistic over-romanticizing. Tortured and controlled, mentally and physically abused me chalking it up to love and calling it a day. But the real kind of love? Nope. Don’t think so.
It’s peculiar. I need to use two hands to calculate the number of boys/men who have professed their love for me. But, I don’t even require one finger to count the number of men I’ve loved. I don’t believe I ever really had the capacity to love anyone until recently. Something about my heart being Broken. Cue the montage of me wearing my pajamas, dirty hair, huge bowl of cereal, romantic comedies on a 24 hour loop, yelling at the television. But no, that wasn’t me at all. It’s just that the only thing I could ever count on, that I kept on the backburner, had vanished. And I didn’t know how to DEAL. So, I did what I do best: to wholly pretend like it wasn’t happening. Ignorance isn’t bliss; it’s how I get by.
Ultimately, I had to beat it into my thick skull. THIS IS HAPPENING WETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT. (and it’s for the best, silly girl. It’s for THE BEST.) So dust yourself off, and get moving. Start living. Remember what that’s like? Oh no, you don’t. Well, you’ll learn. A girl like you has her wits about her. Just watch what everyone else is doing. Mimic. You’ll figure it out.
… and I am.
It’s strange to feel my icy exterior melting. I’m quite sweet underneath, and annoyingly fucking sensitive. There are times when the open air touches lightly on a part previously kept behind heavy, impenetrable walls, and I recoil, shocked into my bones. (It’s exciting. I smile. I laugh.)
There are also times, like now, that I retreat. Unwilling to feel for a second, a day, a week. Truthfully, that’s my gut reaction to anything new. A person, words, a situation.. will stun me for a moment, that proverbial panic will explode in my chest, my heart will miss a beat, and I’ll hide. Except now, all the good hiding spots are taken, or they’re filled in with cement. So I freeze briefly, processing. The numbness, it will subside.
…maybe tomorrow.
I have walked around numb for three days now. Just not feeling anything, frozen. More “oh that’s nice.” and “I see.” And “I am trying to pretend like I give a shit, but it isn’t fucking working. I’m sorry.”
Maybe I’ll marry a surgeon. He’ll discover me perfectly suitable, once he extracts my foot from its permanent dwelling in my mouth. A lot of men perceive me as Perfectly Suitable. I can’t appreciate why girls settle for that. I don’t know. I just Can’t settle. For anything less than THIS IS IT. All capitals. Permanent marker. Tattooed behind my eyes and burning into my skull. Yes, that.
I’ve realized that I’ve never actually been in love with anyone. There’s been unrequited, yes. Lust. Purely sexual adoration and longing. Obsession. Idealistic over-romanticizing. Tortured and controlled, mentally and physically abused me chalking it up to love and calling it a day. But the real kind of love? Nope. Don’t think so.
It’s peculiar. I need to use two hands to calculate the number of boys/men who have professed their love for me. But, I don’t even require one finger to count the number of men I’ve loved. I don’t believe I ever really had the capacity to love anyone until recently. Something about my heart being Broken. Cue the montage of me wearing my pajamas, dirty hair, huge bowl of cereal, romantic comedies on a 24 hour loop, yelling at the television. But no, that wasn’t me at all. It’s just that the only thing I could ever count on, that I kept on the backburner, had vanished. And I didn’t know how to DEAL. So, I did what I do best: to wholly pretend like it wasn’t happening. Ignorance isn’t bliss; it’s how I get by.
Ultimately, I had to beat it into my thick skull. THIS IS HAPPENING WETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT. (and it’s for the best, silly girl. It’s for THE BEST.) So dust yourself off, and get moving. Start living. Remember what that’s like? Oh no, you don’t. Well, you’ll learn. A girl like you has her wits about her. Just watch what everyone else is doing. Mimic. You’ll figure it out.
… and I am.
It’s strange to feel my icy exterior melting. I’m quite sweet underneath, and annoyingly fucking sensitive. There are times when the open air touches lightly on a part previously kept behind heavy, impenetrable walls, and I recoil, shocked into my bones. (It’s exciting. I smile. I laugh.)
There are also times, like now, that I retreat. Unwilling to feel for a second, a day, a week. Truthfully, that’s my gut reaction to anything new. A person, words, a situation.. will stun me for a moment, that proverbial panic will explode in my chest, my heart will miss a beat, and I’ll hide. Except now, all the good hiding spots are taken, or they’re filled in with cement. So I freeze briefly, processing. The numbness, it will subside.
…maybe tomorrow.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
fuck.
I just wrote at least 10 paragraphs and deleted it all.
In short, I had an odd conversation with my best friend today. A conversation in which she kept dropping these one line LOADED sentences.
I couldn’t be sure if she WANTED me to be truthful in my answers. Or if she wanted me to claim her suggestions ludicrous and “Absolutely not!”. I chose the latter. She seemed disappointed.
Time passes and she texts: Well I wouldn’t blame you if you did. That’s all I’m saying.
JESUSMARYANDJOSEPH!
I have no response.
In short, I had an odd conversation with my best friend today. A conversation in which she kept dropping these one line LOADED sentences.
I couldn’t be sure if she WANTED me to be truthful in my answers. Or if she wanted me to claim her suggestions ludicrous and “Absolutely not!”. I chose the latter. She seemed disappointed.
Time passes and she texts: Well I wouldn’t blame you if you did. That’s all I’m saying.
JESUSMARYANDJOSEPH!
I have no response.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
overwhelmed.
So, I’m driving today and I get the thought “If you just take your hands off the wheel for just a moment, you would drive over the cliff.” I envision the guardrail bowing courteously to let my vehicle through. The tumble. The impact. I’m jarred back to reality, where I’m still driving, hands on the wheel.
Then I’m going to school. I’m waiting to cross 5th Avenue’s 4 lanes of traffic. A metro bus is whizzing down the lane closest to the sidewalk, to me. Unexpectedly, the notion of lurching in front of it pops into my head. My mind plays the situation out once more.
Today, I realized that daily life is chock-full of death scene opportunities. They’re everywhere. Just staring me in the face, taunting me. My brain is an unvarying revolving wheel of choices. Do you want to die this way? How about this? “Choose me, and no one will ever know you did it yourself at all!”
I’ve been fixated with death and dying since at least the age of 11 or 12. Maybe forever. Sometimes I wonder if other people have this problem. If there are others similar to me, do they still exist and breathe? Or have they succumbed to the steady pressure? The thoughts appear so swiftly, I can never recognize what caused them.
It’s just me. I HAVE A GLITCH. My brain is a fountain that constantly emits unwarranted Exit Strategies.
No, I don’t want to die. But, it troubles me that these thoughts are my most inborn nature. The deepest kind, with no trail of thoughts conjuring up these images. Just boom, “Wanna die?” It’s as if death were blasé.
Death is the EASY way out. I observe all the people around me, Living, with no difficulty at all. Living, just as simple as they’re breathing. But, Living is the tricky part. Or, at least it is for a girl like me.
Then I’m going to school. I’m waiting to cross 5th Avenue’s 4 lanes of traffic. A metro bus is whizzing down the lane closest to the sidewalk, to me. Unexpectedly, the notion of lurching in front of it pops into my head. My mind plays the situation out once more.
Today, I realized that daily life is chock-full of death scene opportunities. They’re everywhere. Just staring me in the face, taunting me. My brain is an unvarying revolving wheel of choices. Do you want to die this way? How about this? “Choose me, and no one will ever know you did it yourself at all!”
I’ve been fixated with death and dying since at least the age of 11 or 12. Maybe forever. Sometimes I wonder if other people have this problem. If there are others similar to me, do they still exist and breathe? Or have they succumbed to the steady pressure? The thoughts appear so swiftly, I can never recognize what caused them.
It’s just me. I HAVE A GLITCH. My brain is a fountain that constantly emits unwarranted Exit Strategies.
No, I don’t want to die. But, it troubles me that these thoughts are my most inborn nature. The deepest kind, with no trail of thoughts conjuring up these images. Just boom, “Wanna die?” It’s as if death were blasé.
Death is the EASY way out. I observe all the people around me, Living, with no difficulty at all. Living, just as simple as they’re breathing. But, Living is the tricky part. Or, at least it is for a girl like me.
Monday, March 14, 2011
sidetracked
You’re a routine person. You pump gas at the same gas station and pump every day. You attempt to park in the same parking spot. Your feet move in an even, precise dance, so comfortable and easy you could do it with your eyes closed. But one day you veer off course. Perhaps it rains and you’re caught without an umbrella. Maybe you're forced to hurriedly alter your path, trudging through the mud, entering through the back. Your hair is dripping, and the goosebumps have raised on your arms in tiny, perfect rows. And you come upon this face. A face that holds your attention. And there’s a voice. And you say hello maybe. Your shirt is stuck to your chest. Your books are soaked from giant raindrops. You're a mess. But they smile. And you smile. A chance meeting, of sorts. A fleeting feeling. But you won’t chase the way it feels. Just let it fade away, slowly, until the only remembrance lingers in your fingertips and you struggle to put words in its absence. You recognize you’re living on a dull rectangle you’ve retraced time and time again. You put pen to paper and your hand aches from writing, but you’re fond of the pain, it feels WORTHWHILE. So, maybe tomorrow you’ll discover a way to get lost all over again. To deviate. Maybe being lost is the essence of having something to say at all.
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