Seasoned

I am the seasons.
Weaving in and out of time.
My passion a hot summer sun
burning inside
glowing through to the outside, offering the world its
warmth.
Defrosting some
scorching others.
Always
burning on the inside.
I fall.
Stumble.
Trip.
Through this maze.
Through this life.
Recovering.
Falling again.
Faltering just long enough to
recognize the beauty
of how the colors change.
Marveling at how they fade into the
nothingness
and the
fullness
of a raw and wintry heart.
Beating with the steady restfulness
that comes with struggle and
grace.
A silent strength
tenderly
lying in wait
for the
miraculous bloom
that surely shall spring.

Steady as the seasons weaving in and out of time.
I will always be.

The Lesson

No one ever taught me to love
myself.
It is something I learned on my own.

Always searching, searching outside of myself.
Filling, filling a hole with no bottom.
A hole with no end.

A fruitless effort.

Never realizing, never understanding
that love of self is a pre-requisite for love of
anything
else.

Wanting, wanting and never attaining.
Waiting, waiting for something that was never coming.
Never realizing, never understanding that
I 
was all that I had hoped and dreamed for.

No one ever taught me to love
myself.
It is something I learned on my own.

Guilt

If you are anything like me (which I'm going to go out on a limb and say you are, seeing as we are equal parts human. Hopefully. Because that would be terrifying for me to discover you were some kind of hybrid something. I don't care what you were mixed with. It would really frighten me). If you are anything like me, you feel a shitload of guilt. About a shitload of things.
 I've decided that this is a shared trait among us humans based on countless hours of research and extensive interviews delving into the issue of guilt. Kidding. Its really more just something I assume. Yeah, yeah I know. When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me, and all kinds of crap. My dad was a big fan of repeatedly reminding me of that handy expression. So, I'm obviously accustomed to making an ass out of myself. Which is why I will say with tentative certainty that I'm pretty sure that most of us are all too familiar with feeling guilty about all sorts of shit. Doesn't matter how big the shit is or how small (must.resist.gross.humor.now.) if there is a potential to feel guilty about it, chances are I've already felt it, analyzed why I'm feeling it, tried not to feel it, analyzed how it feels trying not to feel it, and either accepted that I'm just gonna feel it, or told it to fuck off and leave me alone. This is a lot for one poor gal to handle, don't you agree? Don't you feel bad for me? Well, don't, dummy. Its already been established that I feel bad enough for us both.
But why? Whyyyyyyyyyy???? ( If you just envisioned me on my knees with my hands raised to the heavens, beseeching the lord with the most dramatic and whiney voice I could muster from my soul...Then you, my friend have one spot-on imagination).
Really though. Why?
Why do I feel these gulity-ass feelings on a such a daily basis? How is it that such an eclectic array of things have the power to evoke such a strong, shitty-feeling emotion in me? The craziest part? A lot of it is stuff I'm not even responsible for, things I didn't do, but rather things that are just who I am or the cards that were thrown my way. Right? I know. This is some heavy shit.
In the spirit of clarity (because lets face it, this cloudy ole world needs more damn clarity!) I have comprised a list of just a few of the things that leave me guilt-ridden, crying silent tears in a corner alone somewhere. Ok not really. I don't have time to just kick it in a corner somewhere, are you serious? And if I did, I definitely wouldn't be alone. I'm sure I'd have at least one kid with me. Nonetheless I made a list and here it is:

*When I go out somewhere without my children, and I see other people who have their children with them, I feel simultaneously guilty for leaving my children at home and bad for the parent who isn't getting alone time like I am. Unless I'm at the grocery store. At the grocery store I walk through the isles yelling, "SUCKAAA!!!" in their faces.

*When I am late, I feel guilty. Late to appointments, late to birthday parties, late to get a joke. If I'm late, I'm feeling guilty. Unless its my period, then I'm feeling hysteria.

*Right now I'm feeling guilty for making you feel uncomfortable when I mentioned my period.

* I feel guilty for not excercisng enough. And by enough I mean ever.

*Sometimes when I take too long in the shower, I feel guilty. Couldn't I just skip shaving my legs? Again. Whats another day at this point? Just another drop in the bucket, that's what.

*I feel guilty when I snap at my kids for small, stupid things. Even if those things are extremely irritating and DUDE! I've told them a million times... I still feel guilty.

*Right now I am feeling guilty for spending my time writing this. Shouldn't I be doing dishes or cleaning up barf or feeding someone or something?

*I feel guilty for living in the house I live in because so many others don't even have homes. I feel guilty about the food I eat because so many others don't have food. I feel guilty about the clean, running water I have because some people in the world have to walk miles (fuckin miles!) just to get that basic human necessity. Not to mention all of the people who die every day from contaminated water. I feel guilty for outliving so many and guilty that I will one day die and leave my children. I feel guilty for being white and the privilege that goes along with it (yeah yeah, white guilt). I feel guilty about having it better than anyone else because who am I to have it better than anyone else??

* I feel guilty when I feel guilty. Now would be the time to silently mouth the words "What. The. Fuck?" That's what I'm doing at least.

I could really go on forever, but then I would feel guilty about leaving all those dishes in the sink, and about taking more of your time.

Stop it, Venus.

Love Is

Love is
Not a battlefield
nor a war.
Love repairs
restores
renews.
Love does not hurt.
It is what heals all the jagged wounds
leaving behind its
beautiful scars.
Reminding you of its
Power.
Love does not stink
it does not suck
it does not bite.
Love soothes
it holds
it caresses.
Love does not
knock down.
It builds
up.
Love does not
vanish
or
disappear.
It remains.
Despite your best intentions
it remains.
Love gives.
It does not take.
Love does not hit you
does not sneak up
does not come
un-welcomed.
It just
is.
Love just
is.

A Declaration!

So, today as our house cleaners were walking up to our doorstep with all of their tools in hand, (yes we have house-cleaners. Stop judging me. These kids are mess monsters on a mission to destroy all in their wake). Anyhow, at the exact moment they walked up to our door, the sprinklers went off. My man (I said that like "My Maaaaaan" by the way), about to leave for work, happened to be outside as well, and without a moment's hesitation he ran over to physically block the water from hitting the women as they walked by. Like, with his actual body. Now, if you know my maaaaan, you know that when he walks out of the door into the wide world, he's super fresh. I mean that in every sense. Like, he's freshly showered, cologned, has some fresh-ass outfit on, and very likely some fresh to death shoes to go with it. (Unlike me, whose idea of walking out the door fresh usually involves the cleanest pair of yoga pants I can find, and a piece of gum that makes me feel like I remembered to brush my teeth...I blame the mess monsters) And this day was no exception. Complete with his "sick ass Jordans" (his words, not mine), he was looking...well, fresh. Yet, he still threw himself in front of that water...the fashion equivalent of throwing yourself in front of a speeding train. Why? Why would he do such a thing? Well, its because he is a bad ass fucking human being.
There is not a person who has crossed paths with him that isn't aware of this fact.
And that's a fact.
Another fact?
He's mine. MINE!! ALLLLL MINE!!! Muah hahaahha.....Ok I'm kidding. (But for reals, he is. I will cut a bitch).
Contrary to what you might believe, this is not some jealous tirade, nor am I metaphorically peeing on him to mark my territory. (Well, kinda). This is actually a declaration of my love for this bad-ass human being, because if he jeopardizes new Jordans without a second thought, all for the good of another, just imagine the lengths he goes for me.
We've been up, down, here, there, back, forth, upside-down and crazy together. We've been high and low, we've sunk and we've flown together. We've pulled through the shittiest battles together, and now we TRIUMPH together.
This is my declaration!
(Yup... peeing on his leg as you read this).






A Declaration!

This is my Declaration!
With a capital
D
and exclamation

This is my declaration of
LOVE
[Yes. I said]
LOVE
Even though these days its ultra cool
to fiercely guard hearts
as to not look like a fool



Cliche of course
Unoriginal to a
T
No matter to this gal
For I'm in love
you see

A good old fashioned
Love Poem
to that one who deserves it
most
Earned his stripes
like a G
[through effort]
Prying open a heart
determined
to remain
closed

The sun of my iciest
places
making puddles of my
resolve
Setting fire to my
foolish
notions
Of what it means
to be in
love

My teacher of the word
Unconditional
Sharing his heart openly and without
Shame
Unafraid to show
tenderness
Like the true
Man
that he is
The one able to handle
This flame

Bears witness to my
shine
Even on my
dullest
of days
DEMANDS
of me
that within myself I see
the
queen
he himself
set
ablaze

The kindness in that
HEART
sweetens the most bitter of
souls
He jumps right in
with a kind of
special
labeled
"him"
And he'll have you at
hello.

Moments

The following is what I read at my little brother's memorial service nearly 3 years ago...

There are some moments in our lives, that even as they are happening we are aware that from that moment on everything is changed, and a new, completely different life is beginning. The birth of my little brother, which I at the age of 10, was in the room to witness, was one of those moments for me. From that point on, I was a big sister. And how special did that make me feel? I was so proud to be a big sister, that I carried his picture around to show people every day for years. From the second Aaron came into this world, something shifted. It is when I first realized- really understood- what love is.

As the years went on and I became wrapped up in my teenage years, my little brother, in my young, too-cool eyes, became my little bother. Always coming into my room without knocking, wanting to play little kid games, taking up all of my precious time. I had phone calls to make. I had cute boys to write about in my diary. I just didn't have the time. Of course, at that age we rarely think of the future any farther than what we had planned for the weekend. So how was I to know that all these years later I would still regret those missed opportunities, and that I would have so little time to make it up to him.

But as it is said, life really does come full circle and what comes around goes around, because in my little brother's teenage years he became too cool for me. Here was this kid, who was now taller than me, whose voice suddenly sounded like my dad's when I called the house, who had even started growing facial hair. Facial hair! And still, all I could see was that baby. My little brother. For someone like him, a boy trying hard to become a man, being called "Little Beavy" and "Baby Bird" by your older, not nearly as cool sister, had to be horrifying. But he took it like a champ, and part of me still thinks he secretly liked it.

As more years went on and I continued to marvel at the fact that my little brother was anything but little, that certain feeling that can only be described as unconditional love was always there. When his attitude left something to be desired (sometimes a LOT to be desired), that feeling was there. When he was rolling his eyes as I told him something that was "for his own good" because I was "older and had been there," the feeling never wavered. When I would get that call or that text that said "Veeeeenus," or "Hey sisterrrrr!" and I knew that meant he was about to ask for some kind of favor- AGAIN- the love was always there, my aggravation taking a back seat. I have loved many people in my life, but there are some people, some kinds of love that are just different. Some people just carve that little place in your heart that nothing or no one can touch. My little brother was that person, that feeling, that love for me.

In the weeks before my little brother was taken from us, he had come to LA to live with me and my family, and although it can be a bit nerve-wracking to throw a newly 21-year-old into the mix of your rather domesticated life, Aaron fit right in. Having him with me was something that made me happier than anyone knew (including him)/ Seeing him every day, and seeing him do well made me so ridiculously proud of him. And he was doing good. real good. I had the honor, in those last few weeks of witnessing my little brother, the baby, on his way to becoming a man. A really good man.

My most recent life-altering moment was in the seconds I heard the words "Aaron's dead." Just like that, everything was different, and nothing would ever be the same. His journey to becoming that great man had been cut short in one instant, And since his life was cut short, so were my opportunities to have more stories to tell about him, to make more memories with him, and to tell him what he really meant to me. There are all of these things, these ways I felt about him, that I should have shared with him when I thought we had forever. Things that never occurred to me I would need to say when we would joke about how when I'm 60 and he's 50 I would still call him a kid who didn't know anything, and he would still call me an old lady who didn't know anything. Sharing those things with him is no longer an option, so sharing them with the people he loved, and who loved him, will have to be good enough.

My brother was funny. His smile was a goofy, wonderful, contagious thing. My little brother was loyal and loving, and full of fun and laughter. My little brother was who I could be the real 100% me with, and who knew he could do the same. My little brother was smart, and witty, and confident. My little brother was so many things to so many. So many things to me. So much more than he ever knew.

I want to end this by asking everyone to look around. Look around at all of the people who are affected by just 1 life. Wether we realize it or not, our existence has such an effect on so many people. Nothing has been a bigger lesson to me on how much we are really not promised tomorrow, than Aaron's death. We may not be able to do anything about my little brother's life being gone, but we can do something about our own lives. It is true that life is short and we must live it fully, but it is also true that our lives are a gift, and not something to be taken lightly. What you are feeling now over the loss of my brother is what others would feel if you were gone. Cherish your gift. I know that is what I intend on doing in memory of Aaron Michael Beaver, my little brother, my baby. I intend on being aware, every second of how fortunate I am to be here, and to truly live.

I am not sure if Aaron knew the impact he had on us all, but I'm pretty sure he knows it now, I love you brother. You may have gone away in a moment, but that feeling never will.

Deeply Rooted

Deeply rooted
in all things
Coursing through
veins
of love
of song
of power
of you
Many forms
Many births
Mother.
In all things
Mother God
Mother Earth
Mother I am
Mother of mine
Keep me solid
on this ground
Deeply rooted
in all things
Fire eternal
Carrying on
One torch
lit
from another
throughout time
Mother stay
or
mother go
Deeply rooted
in all things

My Rat Race

Today was one of those mornings that I will look back on one day and just laugh and laugh about. 

Right? Right???

I sure hope so, because aside from the occasional bitter cackle, laughing is the last thing that I have done today. What happened, you ask? Don't worry, no catastrophic event occured, no horribile news was delivered, no one died. But one of my toddler twins did throw her cereal on the ground, which naturally caused me to break down into tears that ultimately turned into a sob, which finally led to my desperate plea of "What do you guys WANT from me?!?!?" This is normal, right? Right??? OK, maybe I overreacted a bit. But in my defense, I have told that kid about 17 million times not to throw her food on the ground. I think 20 months on earth is plenty of time to grasp the concept. But hey, what do I know? Heres what really happened: I am stressed the fuck out. 

Now before you get all "yeah, yeah, everyone is stressed about something" on me, let me just say, SHUT UP. This is about me. Me and MY stress. This is not about how my stress is better than your stress, or about me asking how you handle your stress. I am not seeking advice, nor am I interested in trading war stories. I get it, we all have our struggles, some more than others. I live most of my life by the "there is always someone out there with it worse than me... be grateful" bullshit.OK fine. Its not bullshit. Its true, and its important to be grateful. Really important. In fact, despite my grinch-esqe tone, gratitude is one of my top priorities in this life. So this whole thing is pretty much blasphemy in my little world.What I am really trying to say is I dont give a fuck.Because, shit! Life is stressful, man. My life gets stressful.I am in charge of a whole bunch of shit. A whole BUNCH of shit. I am responsible for myself. I am responsible for others. I am in charge of feeding, and clothing, and loving, and disciplining and cleaning, and remembering, and getting places on time, and trying to be healthy, and staying connected to my partner, and fuck did I forget to pay the water bill AGAIN?!?, and helping, and playing, and being needed, I'm so fuckin NEEDED, and diapers, and maintaining friendships, my cars oil changes, and my sanity, and don't forget self-care, self care is very important, and doctor appointments, and groceries, and changing the sheets an acceptable number of times a month, and DAMMIT did that kid color on the wall again?!?!, and dropping off, picking up, dropping off, picking up, and keeping people safe, alive, and if I'm lucky...happy, and preparing, and planning, and breathing...and so on....and so on....and so on...Lets not forget that all of these things would go much smoother with a consistent amount of sleep, which I have not had for oh say...the last 2 years. Lets also not forget that all of these things are laced with a steady stream of whining. Usually by my children, but who are we kidding, its very clear who the biggest whiner of all is.

And why shouldn't I whine sometimes? Whyyyyyyyy? Have I not earned the right to a good bitch-fest every now and then? Isn't it possible to vent your frustrations at the trials and tribulations of your life once in a while, and still remain an appreciative, grateful person at heart?

Fuck yeah! 

I say it IS possible. I say I should be able to get that shit off my chest without the constant worry that I am coming off to others as ungrateful or unappreciative. Or even worse, is the nagging fear that I am becoming an ungrateful person by the mere fact that I am complaining. For too long, I have felt an absurd amount of guilt at just feeling what I feel! The fact of the matter is, although my overall outlook on life may be sunny and positive, not everything I feel is going to be sunny and positive. It is ok to feel like shit is wack! Sometimes it really is! Sometimes I feel stressed as fuck. Sometimes I feel like I'm not getting it right, any of it. Sometimes I feel like I've been spending way too long waiting for that magical moment where it will all fall into place. Otherwise known as the MOMENT THAT DOESN"T EXSIST. Sometimes my kids annoy the shit out of me. All the wanting and the needing and the crying and the "mama...mama...mama"..it gets on my nerves. Sometimes I feel so shitty about my kids annoying the shit out of me, that I convince myself I suck as a mom. Sometimes I can't bare to see one more drawer of crap in my house "that I really need to clean out." Sometimes I feel like just living my life is this super elaborate juggling act that I am performing for thousands of people, only I never went to school to become a juggler, never even took a a juggling class. So, I've been teaching myself to juggle as I go along, and sometimes I feel like one of those shitty ass teachers who just pass out handouts every day so they can sit at their desk playing candy crush or drinking booze out of a coffee cup. Sometimes I feel so overwhelmed, and so tired of chasing my tail day in day out, that I begin to see the allure of running away and never coming back. And some days, days like today... I get to feel all of these things at once. Those days, a piece of cereal on the ground is enough to push me over the brink, until all I can do is cry a puddle of tears onto my children's high chair tray with them looking at me like I'm a lunatic. Which, on these days, I pretty much am. I believe these emotional breakdowns would happen fewer and far between if I would just start allowing myself to feel what I mutha fuckin feel as I feel it. Ya feel me?

Does all of this mean that I don't recognize what a truly blessed existence I have been fortunate enough to lead? Hell no. Does it mean that I don't love, cherish, and value my 3 children more than I thought humanly possible? Nope. It doesn't. It doesn't mean that I am not aware that there are people in this world living terrible realities that I will never have to live, and that there are those who have lost children, who would do anything to hear their child's cry, or the word mama even just one more time. It doesn't mean that I don't value my health and the health of those around me, my opportunities of which there are plenty, and the incredible amount of freedom I have in my life. It doesn't mean that it escapes me for a moment how many things I have to be grateful for. Which is why one day I will look back on that fucking cereal on the floor and laugh.

Right???

**Note**Of course, when abused, this can get really fucking annoying to others, so be advised that I will use this new venting power sparingly.

Day 1

The last words I spoke to him were "Be careful." Its almost comical now.

 I watched him adjust the headphones around his neck and nod his familiar "yeah, ok ok" head nod as he walked across the street and made his way into the train station. His stride was made up of equal parts awkward little boy, and overly- confident young man. Even in that large man's body it was hard for me to see anything but the boy. But I was working on it. I waited and watched him and his headphones disappear into the crowd. And then he was gone.

I felt like I was watching a movie. Like it was happening to someone else. I watched myself sitting in my car holding the phone the same casual way I had held the phone for so many other conversations before. Only this wasn't like other conversations. This was the call that told me my brother was dead. This was the call that cracked my world in two parts; the before and the after. I watched myself think it was a joke. Someone was messing with me. No. It can't be true. Maybe it was someone else. How do they know its really him? We don't know. He could still be alive. He could still be alive. We don't really know. I heard myself denying. I heard myself crying. I heard myself saying no. No no no no no. Over and over. No no no no. But I still didn't feel myself feeling it. I was lost in the movie. Then I heard something else. Through the other end of the phone I heard screaming. The distinct wail that could belong only to a mother who has lost her child. I didn't watch myself hear it. I heard it.

Pain.

Too much pain. The kind of pain that makes you want to scream but screaming isn't enough. The kind of pain that makes you want to hit, to scratch, to punch and claw. Anything to make someone else feel pain like you feel. The kind of pain that is unreal in its realness, that is cruel and relentless in its force. It takes the breath out of your lungs, the sound from your voice. It is the kind of pain that grabs you and holds you tighter than anything has, and squeezes the capacity to care right out of you.

 I drove in circles. I drove through neighborhoods I had never seen before. I was lost. I don't know how long I drove but somehow my crumbled mind led me the familiar path home. Through sobs and dry heaves, all I could feel was pain.
Pain and more pain.
As I arrived to the home that mere days before I shared with my now gone brother, I was hit again with a grief so strong in its force, that I stumbled. I stumbled into the house that once held his body full of life and promise, and still stumbling, found my way to his room. Through bleary eyes I took in his belongings.
Indescribable pain.
It looked like him. Crumpled clothes littered the floor, receipts and other scattered papers were carelessly thrown on the dresser. Weights he had just bought but never used, foolishly lay waiting for his return in the corner. It struck me that these things were now just a memory of what he used to be, things he was never coming back to use.
Pain.
It smelled like him. It smelled like his room always had. A scent I had badgered him about countless times while opening windows, inviting in fresh air. A scent that I now hungrily took in because that smell was the only thing left of him that was alive.

 I laid in his unmade bed sobbing for what felt like hours. I didn't see people, I didn't hear their crying or words. I didn't know how many of them were there and I didn't care. I only knew that I no longer had a little brother. I only cared that I would never hear his goofy laugh again.

 Suddenly I had to get out. I had to get out of that room and away from his stuff and his smell, and all the things that were deceiving me into the illusion that he was still a living, breathing person. He wasn't. He was now just a cold, hard body laying on a table somewhere. He was now a corpse. Another young, stupid IDIOT who decided it would be a good idea to get in the car, wasted, with a driver just as wasted as him. That IDIOT!! How could he do this to us? How could he do this to me? How could he be so selfish, so stupid, so DEAD?!! I hated him then. I hated him for the pain. That pain was his fault. His stupid fault.

Two days before, he sat across from me at a diner, and casually commented how being around me and my coffee drinking ass was going to corrupt him into drinking coffee all the time. He said it with such certainty. As if he had enough time to develop another habit. How could he know it was the last cup he would ever have? It was a good lunch, that last lunch. It felt good having him around. Real good. We childishly made fun of each other every now and then, as we always did. We talked about our lives and our plans, as we always did. We spent the in between in comfortable silence, as we always did. We got up from that lunch, got in my car, and I drove him to the train station. I drove him to his death. I was the one who took him. If only I didn't. If I would have just made him stay. Why? Why didn't I make him stay? We almost missed his train ride, you know. What if we were a few minutes later, and he missed it? He would be alive, he would be here. Its my fault. I'm so stupid. Its my fault.

I alternated between misery and numbness. I sat, blankly staring at the television, trying as hard as I could manage to get lost in it, as people began to fill up my house. With them, they brought the silence and pity that fresh death brings. I hated it. That kind of silence is the loudest sound of all. It fills very pore of your body with the harshest reality you will ever face. There is no escaping that silence. And that kind of pity is the worst kind. It is the kind that you can't shake off no matter how hard you may try. It is a pity you have no choice but to accept, you must let it cover you until you are dripping with that pity. It pools at your feet and rises, and it is hard not to drown in that pity.

I didn't know what to do next. I didn't know where to go. I felt like a caged animal, trapped in my own miserable skin. There was no escaping the hurt. It was my best friend now, my constant companion. Even in that moment, I knew it was there to stay. But I don't want it! I didn't ask for it! I had to get away.

I don't know how many miles I ran that day. Me, who has always detested running, ran and ran until I could run no more. I ran away from nothing and towards nothing. The pain ran with me. With the music from my brother's ipod blaring in my ears, I ran. I ran as fast as I could, letting my never-ending tears fall into the wind. I tried to run from the thoughts of him. But he was all I could think about. Nothing but whys and what ifs filled my head. Why didn't I tell him I loved him more? Now he will never know. What about all the plans we had? We were going to do so much. I can't believe he's really gone. Why did I yell at him so much? What if he never came to live with me? What if he just stayed where he was. Would this have ever happened? Why wasn't I nicer? Why didn't I do more? Why did he die? Why? Listening to his music was both comfort and torture. It made me feel close to him, but it was false. I would never be close to him again. He was as far as you could get.
I continued to run.
My feet were possessed by the pain. Every hard step that fell onto the pavement rocked my body with its force. I told myself it would be ok. He's in a better place now. One so much better than this. It was just his time. He's somewhere great now. Its better for him. He's happy. He's at peace.
But what about me?
Aside from him, all I could selfishly think about was me. The me that would from that day forward, exist without him. The me that was marred by his death, that would surely never be the same. I lost more than my brother that day.

Our Love

Love lives here.
Our love lives in all things
The big and the small
It lives in the notes I find in the morning time
the calls just to say hi
the words of respect
adoration
and truth.
It lives in the messiness of my side of the closet
and the trash bag you never remember to replace.
It lives in our children's smiles
their cries
and their breath.
Our love lives in the grief.
Our love lives in our pain.
It lives in forgiveness and unmade beds
sleepless nights
piles of laundry
raised voices
long hugs
chaos
joy
and reality.
Our love lives with no conditions
no games
or manipulation.
It has lived through rock bottoms
and swinging highs
It has lived through defeats
It has lived through common sense
and passion and fire
Our love
Lives here.

I am proud of our love
We worked for this love
We fought for this love
We DESERVE this love
We live this love.

Karma

Karma is a sneaky little bitch.

It is not loud.
It does not come running into the room frantically waving it's hands over it's head, screaming at the top of it's lungs.
It does not announce itself nor does it explain itself.

That's not karma's style.

Karma slowly comes out of the dark corners and hides behind every shadow, waiting.
Karma creeps up on you and wraps itself around you, as you merrily go about your business.
Karma is there, silently plotting, knowing that from it you have no escape.
Somewhere along the way we grew to believe that karma is in our hands.
Only we call it something else.

We call it revenge.

We've grown to believe that we have the power to right all that has wronged us,  simply by wronging back.
Foolishly unaware that all we have done is added our name to karma's naughty list.
No one is immune from karma's biddings.
 But not everyone knows that.
All the better for karma.
All the easier for it to bite you in the ass.

Resolve

I find myself torn when the new year rolls around.

My immediate response to all of the chatter about resolutions and fresh starts and brand new me's is a positive one. This is not unusual or out of character for me. Most things that evoke hope of any kind in people tend to really float my boat. I get giddy at the prospect of making changes for the better, and I truly get caught up in the whole "out with the old in with the new" thing. So really, I kinda dig new years for the sheer fact of so many people, all looking towards a brighter tomorrow at the same time. Its pretty rare if you really think about it.

But then I have this other side, a side I try not to acknowledge because it is the part of me that I fight against on the daily. It is the cynical piece of me that is always trying to worm its weaselly little head out when I am just over here trying to be all zen and shit. Its that bitter old lady deep inside me that cackles and nods when I see things like this:

Because really. Its kind of true that most people don't keep most of their New Years resolutions. I wish it weren't so, I really do. Because then it would mean that I was rockin a bangin ass body at this very moment in time. But I'm like all the rest. I've made plenty of resolutions in the past that have vanished into thin air when March....I mean late.... I mean mid-January rolled around. Its just too much damn pressure, man! And why do people think that this one magical day at the stroke of midnight everything will just fall into place? That the motivation you didn't have all year will just blossom overnight? Its really silly if you really think about it.

Even though it may seem that I am, I'm not knockin anyone who has a few New Years resolutions up their sleeves. Hey, more power to ya! As far as I'm concerned, the world needs more positive shit in it. I will take it any way that I can get it. For me, though, I personally have decided to stop making these New Years resolutions all together. I thought it was because I wanted to stop kidding myself about the bangin ass body. But lately I have realized that its more than that. I don't make New Years resolutions anymore because now I know I make LIFE resolutions. Not a day goes by that I am not in some way working on one of these many, many resolutions. There are things that I want to do to better myself as a human being, and they are things that I will be working on for the entirety of my existence. Because once I feel I have reached a certain goal, I will always set another for myself. Because I will fall off track. More than once. Because I will pick myself up and continue to try and better myself as a human being. For all the days of the year, for every year to come.

And I'm ok with that.

So in a way, I guess you can say that my resolutions will never have a true resolution. Hee hee see what I did there?



Anyways, the true moral of the story is this:

And this:

(I told you I was torn)

And furthermore, why don't we stop viewing change as a destination? When all the evidence clearly 

has shown that it is a mutha f'in journey! 

Peace