Please leave a message....

I'm tired of the complaints that I never answer my phone. I'm tired of hearing that I don't return phone calls. When I was younger and the phone would ring I would beg my family not to answer it. They would surely leave a message if it was important. If someone had to answer, my excuse was planned, and always well executed. "She's in the shower. She's outside. She went to Safeway with her mom. She's doing her homework. She's busy." Whatever the words, the message was always the same....she doesn't want the interruption.

Not a lot about me has changed.

The damn phone keeps ringing; there's no one to cover for me anymore.

It's really got me thinking....this disconnect with the world. I used to dream I could live in a town where nobody knew me. Where I could go and be and do--anonymously. I've somehow stumbled onto that little paradise. No expectations. No requirements. Just me and my day. It's why I hate the cell phone, hate the drop in. Because then I feel like I've just lost this great moment or something~I have to share my time. I have to give in.

I've been cranky and tired and irritable lately. I know why. I've got this huge life thing hanging over my head. But I've learned the hard way I don't have too many people in my life I can count on. Two. Two people won't judge, won't speculate, won't offer advice. Two people will continue on loving me, continue on supporting me, picking me up when I can't walk by myself.

It's just for so long I went on answering the phone. I went on being what people needed me to be. It wasn't me. It was the girl I thought I should be.

And she got clobbered.

You want to talk to me...too fucking bad! Maybe I don't want to talk. Leave a message...maybe I'll call back; probably not. I've been working all day and I just want a little quiet. I just want to settle out the storm in my mind. The thing is I can do that. I get that right. I don't have to answer my phone. Nobody can be mad about that. Nobody gets to be mad at me for that. It's my life. My problems, my time, my way. I tried the sharing route...I got clobbered.

Rumor has it that flushing a cell phone kills it instantly :) ;)

It's good to go through life with a sister~

~Because she knows how you got that way; and loves you anyway.

Everything is better when we're together. Okay, not everything...that's why I moved out. ;)That's why I moved back here. Staying in that house could have cost us our relationship. Leaving saved it. Although, eventually, staying in Idaho could have saved it too. I just didn't give that a chance...

I don't know if all families have this bond, if all sisters feel this close. Is it our personalities? Is it our past? Is it her, is it me, is it the perfect balance? My sister is the one person in my life who has always been there for me. Did I always deserve it--no. Was I always there for her--hardly.
But she's always stuck by me, always been there when I needed somebody to take care of me.

Gypsy and Maverick...see...we can have a better time than most can dream of, better than the best. We are so similar...yet parts of us are like night and day. She taught me how to be a feminist...I taught her how to ride a bike. I moved out first, she fell in love first. We like the same music, and the same books....sometimes I'm scared of how intellegent she is. It's why I take such pleasure in kicking her ass in rummy...which happens enough to make me forget all the scrabble losses. She likes peasoup...makes me want to gag. I drink coffee everyday, she drinks tea. Together, the two of us in a dressing room is unforgettable...laughing so hard I pee my pants. Going to the lake...it's the same for us...the magic. It's real. She makes the best top ramen ever. I won't eat that crap when I cook it.

She is my best friend and it sucks living so far away. I was so excited for her to come, and we had such a good time. Now she's gone and I'm sad :( because nobody quite gets me like she does. So I want to throw a temper tantrum and be 7 years old again and scream and cry because my friend's gone. I want to yell at everyone who tries to be my friend, because they don't come close to my sister, and the attempt sucks.

But I'm not 7. I'm twenty freaking two. Damn it. No temper tantrums. I have to be happy for her. Because I've let her down so much. There were so many times I wasn't the sister she's always been for me, the one she needed. I have to be happy for her~moving on with her life. Settling down, starting her own family. For shit sakes, I set her up with matt...what did I expect?

I didn't expect to lose my sister.

I'm just crabby. I'm still debating that temper tantrum...it would be so much easier. Scream, throw things, march off in my pink footsie jammies.

Tempting.....

Sunday Night's Alright

At the end of the day, there are some things you just can't help but talk about.
Some things we just don't want to hear, and some things we say because we can't be silent any longer.
Some things are more than what you say, they're what you do.
Some things you say cause there's no other choice.
Some things you keep to yourself.
And not too often, but every now and then, some things simply speak for themselves.

Meredith Grey ~ Grey's Anatomy

Walking the Mental Path

"As a single footstep will not make a path on the earth, so a single thought will not make a pathway in the mind. To make a deep physical path, we walk again and again. To make a deep mental path, we must think over and over the kind of thoughts we wish to dominate our lives." Henry David Thoreau

I've been fighting more lately. Fighting myself, my decisions--past, present, future--fighting, just to keep moving. Today I found this place, sure it's no Walden; it was, however, enchanting. It was perfect. Listening to the rain and the birds, and of course, the occasional siren and that damn traffic. :) But for a few hours I felt like stepping out of time. Into a place that resembled somewhere somebody may have lived.....a long, long time ago. Invisible to the world. Just me, alone. Able to think. Able to write. Able to be.

Like Crack, only not.

My writing has become an addiction. The only way to stop the thoughts swarming around in my brain. The only way to quiet the forces taking over my mind.

When I'm not writing, I'm thinking about writing--which words to use, thoughts to convey, feelings to hide, emotions to show. I feel like they're on my sleeve. To see me, you'd be able to look into my eyes and know what I'm feeling. It's keeping me up at night, waking me in the morning.

It's the nagging feeling, that whatever it is, must be powerful enough to have taken over.
Whatever I'm trying to reach, question, solve, find...must be important.

Here's hoping that I'm getting closer to something. That it is an answer I'm looking for. I could just be searching. That whole, the journey is the destination.