I TOLD YOU SO

Sometimes when it rains we wake up and feel sluggish, sometimes even before we knew it was going to rain, or is raining; as if maybe we didn't adjust the pillow or blanket right, got up on the wrong side, like our bodies know before we realize. Sometimes I feel like this too, and other times the rain is like a much needed break. As if the sunshine was a farce and the rain was cruel, bitter, real-life's dress down day. Like nature is putting on a show whenever the sun is shining: Everything is okay! Everyone is good! But when it rains it's like what happens when the curtain goes down after some highly acclaimed broadway production, the costumes are stripped and left strewn about, a flash flood of pigment barrels through pipes and under the ground. Rain is honest.

On days when it rains and I can understand the underlying significance, the deep philosophical longing and fulfillment rain brings I can stand outside under an umbrella or even dripping and drenched with cotton sticking to my skin feeling hydrated straight to my bones, and it's a relief.

So today was one such day.

I stole some time at the water's edge and I tiptoed passed the remains of an old wooden wall, a forgotten broken barrier between the constant rushing and crashing, pulling and dragging, and me. I dare the storm to do its worst. Rain, wind and the tides, I'm not afraid of anything here. I'm not thinking about lightning, or technical terms or how to be smart, I'm only reminding myself of what a weather forecaster let slip out and float, through the storm, through the air, through radio waves and straight to me. Like maybe I was the only one who caught it, like maybe it was a gift from time and from the feeling you get in those moments you know it's more than just a series of obscure coincidences and numbers. Gift-wrapped with a bow and a card and an arrow straight to my heart. My very own gale, with a target painted on my back I know it's heading straight for me, but I stand firm and as tall as I can and remind myself I can't back down. If I back down it won't be easier, it won't be over, the waves will grab hold of my limbs and rip me from the land and what then? There are no ships among the waves, not here, this is only for pleasure sailing. No hardened old men who are doing what needs to be done with teeth chattering in this paralyzing rain. Wind that's knocking me around, just under a hundred pounds worth of girl is no match, this I know. But still I'm grounded, I'm growing roots that allow me to bend and sway but also stay. And the deeper they reach the harder it is to accept what not backing down means, but we'll take it as it comes, one inch at a time.

After the storm

I'm perfectly content to continue pretending right along with you. Don't worry, I'll keep up.

You should know that on the inside I'm seething though, my gears are turning and I am starting to understand how this works. I'm saving up and I'm taking notes.

So while you all stir up the seas and are never at rest I'll surf along the surface and as things for you start to crumble I'll be half way out of here and once everything has fallen apart I'll send a postcard from where I land.

I'm rebuilding, you're not invited.

STRUGGLING, ALMOST DROWNING

There just isn't enough quiet to get my thoughts processed and laid out and nicely organized and folded and put away in their proper compartments.

There just isn't enough space in this stale, dark little apartment with no windows to open and no fresh breezes to stir things up.

I want to throw out all of our furniture and put tents up in all the corners with labels on them, SO-AND-SO ONLY! TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED. So everytime things are feeling crunched everyone can break and hide in with themselves in their own way, climb back into themselves and eventually come out, or not come out.

sometimes, mostly, maybe.

So, it doesn't always have to be cryptic here right, I mean that's not what I made this for. I made this for opening the flood gates, for letting my mind and my fingertips wander over the letters together and just let whatever comes out, come out. FOR ONCE. Sometimes I think I am too guarded, too quiet, and I've definitely been too kind.

But what I'm wondering today is about love, LOVE. L-O-V-E.

Does real love mean sharing the same interests and wanting the same things and finishing eachother's sentences? Or does it mean sacrificing what you actually care about and caring (or trying to care, or pretending you care?) about whatever this other person cares about? Does it mean listening (and when we say listening, do we mean REALLY HEARING or pretending to listen and adding in mmhms and uuhuhs to sound believing?) to what they want to talk endlessly about, or can we be honest and say I DON'T SHARE THIS INTEREST AND I DON'T NEED YOU TO EXPLAIN THIS TO ME FOR FIVE HOURS, BECAUSE I DON'T CARE. Does it mean being honest with them or does it mean being honest with them about yourself but not about them. Does it always come easily or is it a full time job? Can you really fall into it, does it really just show up at your door or do we search for it? When (if) we find it, is it easy to keep or is it a constant struggle?

You aren't supposed to change this person, and they aren't supposed to change you, but how do you mold together two lives unless they are already similar, if no one changes?

I just don't know. Is it supposed to be mysterious? Is it supposed to be the kind of thing that people describe by saying YOU'LL JUST KNOW. YOU'LL JUST FEEL.

WHO WHAT WHEN WHERE WHY?