To love:

To lose part of yourself to another and always search for it when you
look in their eyes. Isn’t that what it is? You check to make sure that
everything is ok and that everything is all right and that they’re
taking care of that part you’ve given them – your trust, your hope,
your essence.

To hate:

To recognize a part of yourself in the other, but it’s magnified – like
looking at an insect through a magnifying glass and what once was a
tiny, insignificant thing has become a monster.

Anger:

An offspring of frustration, a realization that you are powerless to
change something, and that is why it feels like you’re being pressed
against a stone wall, the sharp edges cutting into your cheek and you
lose your warmth to its apathetic solidness.

Hope:

The belief, no matter how silly or transient or ephemeral, that there’s
a bus coming right around the corner because you tried hard, so hard,
to get to the bus stop on time only to see it leave and now you have to
wait, knowing that you’ll be late, but knowing without knowing that
there’s another one…. coming…..

Fear:

The sibling of anger, the silent sister of darkness, the one that lurks
in shadows and lies. She feeds on suspicion, on ignorance, on doubt.
But she is without malice until you give that to her too, because she
can keep you safe, or she can destroy you. And nothing can stop her.
Nothing. Except Truth.

Truth:

Abused and neglected, battered and tattered, but still, the weapon of champions.

She had this way of making up silly songs. Like, she would take songs they teach you in grade school and, having forgotten the words, make up new ones. His favorite song, though, was the one about bananas.

And when she sang – not that she had the most beautifulest voice in the world, but when she sang, all was good and all was fine because when she sang – she only sang when she was happy and content. So hearing her sing one lyric of a forgotten tune would instantly lift his mood. And her voice- it traveled through the curtains and hallways and doors that separated them and brought her nearer to his heart.

But it had been a while, he realized, since he heard her sing anything. Not a nursery rhyme, not a jingle, not another one of those silly songs she made up about cupcakes that she sang to the cats. It had been a while, really, since he heard her say anything at all. It was this silence more than anything that unnerved him.

And now for something completely different:

I am five years old.

Mickey, I tried to give you her AIM handle but you were offline last night. Sometimes I don’t want you two to meet, because she reminds me of me and I want to be your favorite me. But then again, she’s a LOT neater. She doesn’t like messes at all…..

“I’m sorry…. not because you suffer, but because I couldn’t suffer with you.”

Happy Birthday. See, I didn’t forget. I don’t think I ever will…..

4 days…..

There are moments when I’m at total peace. Calm. The zen of acceptance. Of strength. Of faith.

These moments now last longer and longer. But I fear…. I fear that they come not from the belief that everything will be ok, but from an acceptance of inevitable death; the strength to move through the next minute just because; of faith that things will be ok not because they’ll be ok, but because it will finally be over.

The waiting. The pause in time when I realize that everything keeps moving even though I wish it’d stop and I could be here forever.

Wishes have a strange way of coming true for me. And sometimes I regret that once when I was 20 I wished never to grow old – to live a blazing but brief life – to die young and beautiful instead of wasting away like I’ve seen people do.                             I could become a vampire I guess…..

I replay the moments in my head. Maybe I’m walking from the store to my car at night after work, and he’s waiting in the parking lot. Or maybe I’m getting out of my car when I get home, and he sneaks behind me, points his gun to my head, and fires.

And I think of grief that would bring. But mostly, I think of relief.       

I keep hoping.       I keep hoping that by some miracle I get spared. That I win the lottery. That a rich but infamous relative passes away and leaves me escape money. That maybe I just pack up my cats and animals and drive east towards Alabama. That’s in the east, right? Or maybe Louisiana. Or New York. No one can find you in New York.

But I think it’s a little hard to win the lottery when you never buy a ticket.

It’s too bad, though. What I mean to say is, it’s too bad that I’ve found people to love and friendships I’ve started to cherish. Otherwise, this could have been just another cessation of breathing, another blown out candle. Instead, it will be – relatively speaking – a momentous occasion … if it ever does happen. In the future, at least. Distant future, hopefully…..

Sarah’s Modest Christmas Wish List

1. A really good, or at least decent, microscope. For plant dissection and fish biopsies…

2. A shop-vac with a 6 gallon capacity.

3. A decent power tools set (not cordless!). - You know, for my mad hardware skillz…..

Man, I’m such a nerd….

I’m smoking too much.

The other night, I dreamed I caughed up blood. Like in a movie – you know – where any character that caughs up blood is supposed to die at the end….

Whatever…. We had an argument about money the other day. I left for work in a bitchy mood. I was unruly, insubordinate, harsh and crude at work. Whatever….

Money isn’t important, I say. Money….. I’ve had it before and I’ll have it again. Someone is always there to take care of me, so I don’t care about it. I don’t care about making more. Truly it would be great to spend it without worrying about consequences. Without planning or budgets or constraints. But then I think: What is it that I really want to spend it on? What is it that I don’t already have? Material things? Clothing, jewelry, purses and shoes? I’ve got plenty. I’ve got expensive ones. And as far as I’m concerned, I’ll walk around in sweats or pajamas all day. It doesn’t really matter, does it…..

Then the question turns to life. Food, electricity, internet connection, a roof over my head. But I will never starve, though; at least, not in this country. And electricity is not my main concern. Nor is access to the internet (sometimes) and there are a million places I could live for free or next to nothing.

So you get angry when I don’t respond with worry or concern when you say “We don’t have enough money for  _____” because really, what do we need _____ for?

And if I ever really needed money – you know – for like, a lung transplant or surgery to remove that mysterious lump in my brain or whatever, well…. life begins and ends without you needing money. Why prolong something that will happen anyway, right?

So it could be that I’ve reached this zen attitude about it. This…. apathetic spiritual philosophy about not being able to eat at a really good Thai restaurant when the mood strikes me. Or maybe it’s denial – a numbing carelessness about the future and my future health….

Regardless, I don’t like to worry about money because my tastes are simple: quality, endurance, sentimental. And if those are expensive sometimes, then so be it. If those are priceless, free, what have you, then all the better.

Life comes from living, not buying. And yes, it would be nice to have a large house, fast cars, and spare buildings I could blow up, but for now, let me bask in my contentment, let me heal my grief, let me Be. Because I know as soon as things change, so will I. And right now, I like how I am when money doesn’t matter.

And yes, sometimes I hate the things I’ve accumulated. They are … baggage. They mean I need to consider their placement if I should choose to leave. But then again, when have I ever been that considerate? Still….. one should at least ease someone else’s burden. Still….. I know I can leave whenever I choose to. I think that’s why I hate my things the most right now. Because everything I have is sometimes not enough to convince me to stay.

So you see… money isn’t everything. Nor is food, shelter, electricty. There is only one thing that is ever everything, and that is _______.

Weird things I like to do:

1. Tweeze my leg hairs.
2. Eat everything with rice.
3. Pick scabs off.
4. Iron clothes.
5. Play with water.

If you put one schooling fish in a tank by itself, it lives a short and miserable life, always looking for somewhere to belong, always looking for companionship.

If you put two schooling fish together in a tank and they happen to be of an aggressive species, one will inevitably kill the other. Then, after killing the sole partner in the tank, the fish goes insane and starts chasing/tormenting/killing the other inhabitants.

But if you put schooling fish in a tank in the barest minimum number of “school,” then they will bicker only amongst themselves. They will move as if of one mind. And that is how you can keep aggressive species together in the same tank with the more docile and slower fish.

Dear One,

You’ve not come around a while.

I like to think you’ve quit your job finally and you’re out there in the middle of the ocean, drinking cold tequila and watching the sun set. Are you?

But other times, I like to think you’ve quit your job and moved to San Francisco where everyone I know lives now – that hectic mish mash of bodies rubbing, tongues wagging, cars rushing – the lifeblood of a city flowing all around you, trying to revive you, trying to make you forget. And the blood rushes through your limbs and brings color back to your face and you pause, look up at a skyscraper mirroring the sky and in an instant, your thoughts are not of me but of life.

Sometimes, I make believe that you’re here now, up north, and that you watch me, watch over me, through these trying times. And that’s me being selfish and self-centered.

I like to walk barefoot and the bottoms of my feet are grey with dust and dirt, but I like the sound my bare feet make on linoleum, on cement, on grass.

And when I have my own house to live in, I’ll have ceiling fans all over the place. I’ll knock down walls to make open doorways. And when it rains, I’ll lie down naked in the yard.

Things could be worse….

Scarlett’s dad is dying of cancer.

Next time I come over, Mickey, I’m bringing a map.

Dear Eric,

It is tough to be happy when Trouble follows you. It Haunts. It Hunts.

Yesterday, I told my psychiatrist everything that’s been happening lately. You know what she said?

“You should write a memoir.”
“Why?”
“Because of everything that happens to you. It’s enough for 3 lifetimes.”

So….. I couldn’t make up my mind whether to be amused or upset by this statement.

So consider this blog as my autobiography; a sort of …. work in progress. I shall call it: Borders On The Ridiculous.

Anyway, I’m still waiting for my glasses.

And I’ve changed my email address because Yahoo was a BIG Pain in the ASS to deal with. I really want to cut myself right now. But instead, I’m so stressed out I spent the whole morning throwing up.

So um…. took the day off work today.

And if I had a thousand dollars, I’d prolly move closer to San Francisco. Because it’s about 3 cities away from here, and I figure that’s prolly enough distance to hide from the guy that wants to kill me. Otherwise, though, I really really like my apartment. And I’m really really just tired of trying to live.

Truly,
Sarah