Breakfast in Bed, Marie Cassatt

"Children rest in love...but then they are still pure
in their illusion that it is possible to belong to someone;
and when they say 'mine', they make no claim to ownership;
they hug and let go, and when they do hold on, it is God
with whom they are still enmeshed, who draws the others
to himself through their innocently open arms."

dance upon the wind

thursday, august 28th was really just a crazy, exhausting day. i have those from time to time, as everyone does- the kind of days that leave you haggard and on the brink of tears for no reason other that you're just so unbelievable drained.

my schedule was packed- work, home, school, work, home, school, bed. that's how my planner read- the planner that will keep my life in order for the next 18 months- those unimaginable, hectic, and fruitful last 18 months of my degree. wednesday night porch sitting and wine drinking didn't lend itself to a restful sleep, nor did sharing my bed with the lovely melissa sue, who stayed over after a surprise visit from maine- a little gift of love from a truely wonderful friend. in any case, i wasn't in tip-top shape once 7am rolled around- it was destined to be a long, long day.

i left my cell phone at home when i went to work- pretty typical of me, but i'd been waiting for a call from the hartford golf club for the last couple days so i was a little miffed at myself. at around noon i called my vm to check messages and i had one- from my mother. my mother... with that voice... that voice that says, "you're the only one of my children that does things for me and i need you right now." she was at the hospital and needed a ride home. she'd fallen, another mysterious and undiagnosable "black-out". i hate that i get angry at her for this and that sometimes i'm so selfish and that i immediately thought, "WHY TODAY?!" most people would think i'm just horrible for not dropping everything and running to her. maybe i am... but i guess a handful of friends know what it's like for me to have my mother as a mother and thus, understand why i just can't do that. i did though, sort of, in the best way i know how. i'm a good daughter but honestly... why then, on that day, with that schedule, with no time?

my entire body was flooded, i was tired and stressed and upset and scared and hot and cold and dry and anxious. i left work with that suitcase chained to my wrist. it's never a great idea to drive with a head heavy with thought. focusing on highway navigation while trying to make sense of your life isn't adviseable, and i should know (see auto accident, fall 2006 for reference). i was really drowing in it though and no real solution, aside from just getting though it was coming to mind. tumble. jumble. mess.

stop.

picture this: a highway, a tunnel, a car. a girl in thought, relatively distressed, driving. out of the corner of her eye she sees something: a dragonfly. he (she decides) is flying with her- outside the car, riding the freeway current, 6 or so inches from the left side of her windshield.

a distraction- a friend, perhaps.

that little dragonfly hung around for as long as he could and i smiled and sighed one of those big sighs that just empties everything. the sunroof was open and all the gunky mish-mash flew out into the sky. i went to class and then set out for the hospital. i missed my turn (that place is a disaster) and had to take an extra trip around the block. at the intersection of maple avenue and jefferson street i spotted the dragonfly again. he zipped past the front of the car and did a little dragonfly dance while i waited for the light to change. we parted ways there. i picked up my mom. she was ok, just a pretty gnarly shiner from where she hit her eye on the door. mom was ok and i was ok.

everything is ok.



dragonfly with red wings, Miro.

Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.

~Rainer Maria Rilke


Night, LEONID AFREMOV, glycee print on canvas.

filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light...

i walk without flinching through the burning cathedral of the summer. my bank of wild grass is majestic and full of music. it is a fire that solitude presses against my lips.
~violette leduc, mad in pursuit

yesterday i mourned the last day of my first summer vacation in what feels like eternity- it is really closer to 6 years. i felt the weight of the day- sadness mixed with uncertainty- pressing upon my insides like that feeling you get when you know you and your love are through. anticipation is the criminal: he starts cutting the threads one by one as soon as the sticky nights turn to chill and you curl the blanket into fists around your ears for the first time. it's been like that for over a week now, with little flirts of july stuck in for good measure- just to churn up nostalgia for the heck of it.

nostalgia is anticipation's sidekick. kundera (kindred, he and i) speaks of nostalgia in the most relateable way- "you can suffer nostalgia in the presence of the beloved if you glimpse a future where the beloved is no more." homesickness. a wistful desire to return. that is where my heart lies, like dirty dishes on the table after the most indulgent meal. dessert is a flickering candle of hazy doubt i'm too full to nibble upon.

i'm doubtful of this new path i'm on. the big, huge, canyon-sized leap i've take towards "my future" is so scary that i feel lost. there are too many forks in the road now, so many what ifs that i'm on the edge of my seat but shielding my eyes at the same time. imagine one of those "choose your own adventure" books- only for adults- where real consequence or exhilaration is just one decision, one turn of the page away. how arresting! and truely, how unlike me. i play it safe, i'm responsible, i'm realistic- rational even.

but so what? who cares? i've made it this far and i realized i was miserable playing by those rules. didn't i say that anticipation and nostalgia are partners in crime? they are, despite their conflicts. they seem in opposition but that's their game: one dragging you backward while the other tears forward. they're corporal punishment, those two: we're always strung up between their horses.

i want to remember this summer always as one that set me free. all the bad, the broken, the lost burnt in a wildfire that i didn't set aflame but from whose ash...

“They say love is blind...and marriage is an institution. Well, I'm not ready for an institution for the blind just yet.” -Mae West

there's nothing particularly poetic or interesting about what i have to say today. i just felt like updating, and what a better way to update than to rant- or at least vent a little penned up steam.

my best gal friend from high school is getting married on saturday. many of you know this, as i've been wrapped up in the planning for months now and it has made an obvious mark on my soul. i'm happy to see her so happy, you know, despite being a little jealous and a lot terrified. yes, absolutely, completely terrified. no one seems to understand why all of a sudden that is the emotion i'm having. shit, i don't really understand it either. plenty of friends are married now- it's all the rage, who else is getting on board? so why this time am i filled with the urge to skip out on the whole thing- toss my lovely, stem green, silk tricotine dress and flawless pink silk stilettos into a suitcase and take them away to someplace far more inviting and far less spectacular? i really don't know. i don't know a lot of the reasons why i've been feeling so removed and distant from the happiness surrounding her, or any of my newly married friends for that matter.

part of me can't get over how young we still are, and how i've always pictured these wonderfully grand lives for us all. i guess i really didn't look at everyone's collective future realistically. i mean seriously, how could i have ever expected that every girl i knew from high school through college would turn out to be a fabulously successful woman doing brilliant things in extraordinary places? it's one thing to hope that for yourself- and i do- perhaps to a fault sometimes. but to think that everyone would have the same goals and priorities was particularly naive of me. yes, quite naive.

i'm not saying that marriage at our age is a curse or a submission to the ordinary. please, don't misinterpret. what i am saying is that i can't imagine, at this point in my life, being ready to combine, compromise, and content myself with another person- forever. i want more time to be selfish and discover everything awful and wonderful about myself- by myself- and i think we all deserve that. it feels like everyone has decided not to know themselves anymore or to push for something outside of what they know. like comfort led the the next step- staying comfortable. i can't understand.

i'm like a lost little puppy in tornado of taffeta.

listen slowly

this morning i listened slowly.
i listened and i felt what i heard
i heard what i felt when i listened
so slowly that time stood still.

i found that every day is
the start of something beautiful.

"when the heart speaks, the mind finds it indecent to object." - milan kundera

i haven't written in a while. i've been full- preoccupied.

laying in bed the other night i found myself thinking: this has become a common occurrence. laying there, still clothed- awake. darkness and quiet, or as quiet as it gets on that busy urban line. i don't know if it's sadness in those moments that keeps me listening to my breath. is it sadness or loneliness or knowing that the air is settling into the cracks of my empty three rooms?

cats move without noise, like ghosts passing through walls, like wind carrying souls. alone with my self-

self, hello.

- his silence is audible. a pebble perhaps? stuck in the sweet, pink pads, click-clacking on hardwood. (there's a joke in there, only the kindred know.) i wish he knew i was listening, that my attention was his, only. for a moment it was, but then: breath. traffic. darkness.

it's almost tactile. no, not almost- is. i can feel everything: the softness of linens far past-due for washing, the prick of feathers pushing toward fresh air; comfort versus restraint. yes. on the outside there is both comfort and restraint, their game of hide and seek. it's everywhere these days: that frayed thread, that unlaced shoe, that matted mess of twine.


marc chagall