“Done is better than perfect.”

Thank you, Libby from 2-D Design for that advice; I don’t think you know how tightly I will forever hold onto that little gem.

It is my new worry stone, tucked deep into the miniature watch pocket of my favorite faded blue jeans.

When I am doubtful, unsure, and feel like I can’t meet my own goddamned unreasonable expectations, I pull this pale little gem out (in my mind’s eye) and run my fingers over the smooth surface of it’s comfort.

“Done is better than perfect.”

Most people won’t even take the time to do the damned thing. It’s the same sentiment as “You’re lapping everyone who is on the couch.”

Just doing it is the battle.

Do what you can. Do your best. And move the fuck on. 

 

Dear Stranger, apologies

from me to you.

It seems that the only time that I want to talk to you is when my life is awry and I need the open ear of no one and everyone all at once.

I am a mess.

Do I tell you that I have been trying to find the right anti-anxiety medication for weeks since complications with my usual one and now it just feels like a really fucked up guessing game?

My 4.0 GPA is waving goodbye as my social anxiety sets in making my ADD less manageable, my work less quality and my attendance less likely. I have spent the whole class period in the parking lot of the school with my hands firmly gripped on the steering wheel unable to convince myself to enter the building. I find every reason to put off the assignments until sheer panic sets in and I frantically try to come up with something that looks presentable.

But then I should be doing homework right  now, shouldn’t I?  😳

I am new.

It has been so long since I’ve written that it feels like I have lived a hundred lives & changed a thousand times.

My opinions on life and love and hate and drugs and mental illness and sanity and God and the universe and my past and my future all seem to ebb and flow unruly as the sea.

Today I am new. Today I am different. I may not always make new choices, but how I think on them will be.

Each grain of sand collecting together, building what will have been my life.

 

What is the big GOD-DAMNED deal?

I am so tired of being chastised for that word.

Goddamn. Goddamned. Goddamns. Goddamnit.

I am not damning God.  I love God. Or the universe or whatever that essence is.

I use it out of frustration…  as in, “God, if there is a hellsend this __________ there.”

I am asking for his help with smiting. I am not angry AT him. I am angry WITH him.

Why is that so hard to understand? Especially if I were praying to the Christian God… isn’t that his jam? Paying back those who won’t accept him?

sigh.

It is 1:00 in the morning and I am only on my 5th Orange Henry’s Hard Soda. My buzz is barely stable, if you can even call it a “buzz”.

I’m not pissing and moaning about Ty so that is a good start but is religion any better?

 

I did get invited to a party tonight, so that was fun…

Cassidi & I showed up at like 10:30- which is when the “par-tay” usually gets “krunk” (or do they not use that one anymore?😬) Anyways, once we arrived we quickly realized that we were nearly a decade older than everyone there… which means that more than likely there was some underage drinking…

…so we boot-scoot and boogied our way out of there and back to my madre’s hizzy to kick it with her and chillax for the night. (Don’t I sound cool?)

 

Bedtime. 🌙 1:52 AM

 

On Writing

A dear friend told me that I don’t have to create amazing prose each time that I sit here to write you.  It’s difficult, you see, because I don’t really know what this is. It is a hobby, for sure. It is a form of self-expression that I tend to use when I am feeling blue or have a funny story. But I don’t feel like I can stop by and write unless I have something worth reading.

Someone recently said to me, “I was reading your diary online and…”

My diary? Oh shit… Is that what this is? I mean, I don’t keep a diary. I wish I did. But I guess I really don’t hold back when I am writing you. So this could be a diary. I feel like you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to know.  And I wouldn’t be sharing if I didn’t want you to know.

I want to make this more frequent. I will try and write at least once a week from now on, not leave you hanging on for so long. Not that you are hanging on in anyway, but, here you are… still reading my nonsensical bullshit. haha.

Peace & Love

💘

-Am

After A While & Dear Woman

These are not my poems. But they have resonated with me lately. I hope they speak to you and touch your soul like they have mine.

 

After a While by Veronica A. Shoffstall

After a while you learn
the subtle difference between
holding a hand and chaining a soul
and you learn
that love doesn’t mean leaning
and company doesn’t always mean security.
And you begin to learn
that kisses aren’t contracts
and presents aren’t promises
and you begin to accept your defeats
with your head up and your eyes ahead
with the grace of woman, not the grief of a child
and you learn
to build all your roads on today
because tomorrow’s ground is
too uncertain for plans
and futures have a way of falling down
in mid-flight.
After a while you learn
that even sunshine burns
if you get too much
so you plant your own garden
and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone
to bring you flowers.

 

Dear Woman by Michael E. Reid

Dear Woman,

Sometimes,

You’ll just be too much woman,
Too smart,Too strong.
Too much of something
That makes a man feel like less of a man,
Which will start making you feel like you have to be less of a woman.
The biggest mistake you can make
Is removing jewels from your crown
To make it easier for a man to carry.
When this happens, I need you to understand,
You do not need a smaller crown –
You need a man with bigger hands.

Disconnected…

What does that word mean to you?

Is it a feeling?

Is it a verb?

Is one or the other or both?

Does that even make sense?

 

Ha.

Disconnect, ye disconnected…

 

a universal human experience

 

to be human is to be temporary

and how wonderful it is to be

only temporary

and human

all in one and one in all.

 

 

It’s been a while. (a.k.a. “On being fired”)

I haven’t written in almost 2 months.

Much has occurred, but I am only going to hit on the important stuff, and not in chronological order.

  • I was in a wedding for a dear friend, Winston and his darling husband, Brian.

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  • I took a 5 day cruise to the Bahamas.

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  • And I was fired for the first time in my (almost) twenty-seven years.

flushed-face

The on-board ceremony for Brian and Winston took place while at port in Jacksonville. They picked the most luxurious venue on the cruise ship. There were giant pink pearls in the ceiling, fancy glass flute-like lights, and a shimmering golden curtain at the front stage area where the ceremony took place. The reception had the fanciest, most delicious food and an open bar. It was both a grand and intimate affair; exactly as a wedding should be.

The cruise was lovely until halfway through, for the two nights when we experienced 5 foot waves. My bed creaked with every sway. Dramamine became my dearest friend (once I finally discovered it on the 2nd day of the movement).

That cruise was about two weeks after my cousin/boss stopped me in the hallway at work and asked to speak with me “just a quick minute”. He followed me into his wife’s office and rapidly told me that he needed someone to work 45+ hours a week and my 22 hours (as agreed upon when I was hired a year ago) was just not enough. He also mentioned that he already had someone in mind to fill my position, and that he refused to ask me to put college on the back burner. So here was a thousand bucks, I could go ahead and clear my desk and take some time off. “Is it something I’ve done?” I managed to stutter, still processing what was happening. “No! And don’t take this as me firing you. We are family and I love you. You are so smart. I just need someone who can be here more. ” Still confused, I wiped my tears and scurried back to my desk.

I have been working since I was fifteen years old. I have never been let go or fired from anything. I have never had someone say, “Thanks, but we really don’t need you.” or “You just aren’t worth it or working out.” This has been a blow to my ego/self-esteem.

I am so thankful for my overly comforting boyfriend. He was angry at first, just because he knew my feelings were hurt. But he keeps reminding me that this is how it is supposed to be and probably a blessing in disguise. “Look, I am working over-time since it is summer and you are still taking classes and all… we don’t necessarily need your income, I mean, you really don’t even have to get a job if you don’t want to.”

Thanks boo, but I need to feel useful and like I am holding my own.  I will be ok. I will find something better suited for me. I will stay positive and start looking for my next adventure. Some-fucking-how…

 

Here’s to new beginnings!

02/22

What was once a glorious celebration of my little sister’s life is now a black hole on my calendar.

Chuck E. Cheese, roller skating rinks, and the zoo all hold memories of days gone by where loved ones surrounded my skinny, blonde haired and blue-eyed sister, singing “Happy Birthday” and showering her in kisses, laughter and gifts. There was always at least one gift tucked away in Brooke’s mountain of toys just for me.  “The good ole days” they call them.

On this particular day, similar to the last 7 years, I am throwing a pity party all for myself. I called out of work. I have been drunk(ish) since noon.  I told my professor that I was sick and wouldn’t make it to class.

That wasn’t a lie. I am sick… of this day, of this feeling, in the head, to my stomach…

My sister was 18 months younger than me.

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She was the most beautiful person that I have ever known in real life. She brought light into a room when she entered it. She went out of her way to befriend the friendless. She had inside jokes with everyone. She was a cheerleading captain and the reigning Miss Junior at the local high school (not that beauty pageants mean shit to me, but so you understand how gorgeous this girl was).

In public, she was a lady. She woke up early every morning to make sure that every hair on her head was in place and that her make-up was flawless. She smiled and waved to all, like the queen she was. 👑

When we were alone though, she would secretly puff on one of my menthol cigarettes, cursing like a sailor as she babbled on about her latest grown-up adventure. That raw side of her was only meant for those of us from whom she never feared judgement, and there weren’t very many of us.

She was not born with rhythm so she practiced over and over in a mirror until she understood and conquered that. She had more determination in her pinky finger than I have in my whole body. She could have changed the world. 🌎

She died in a car accident on March 24th, 2008, about a month after her 17th birthday (Feb. 22).

Most days I accept it. I now love more freely, speak more honestly and live more happily. I don’t take moments for granted. I forgive quicker. It has made me a better person in some strange way.

But not today.

On the day she was born and on the day she died, I don’t have to pretend I am ok with it or hold back my tears. I allow myself these two days a year to mourn, cry, mope, and feel sorry for myself like I want to so often (while I hermit myself in my house with some liquor). I look at old pictures. I simultaneously want company and can’t handle the judgement. My anxiety is at its peak.

Cheers to another round! 🍻

 

Missing my Brookie forever ✨👼🏼👑 #MBD #143

💘xoxo

– Am

That one poem

I have always preferred to write poetry in the style of Walt Whitman- free, full of feeling and noises. But Emily Dickinson’s gentle cynicism has always been dear to my heart. She was so different and yet still similar to myself.

There is a poem that I was taught in 11th grade when learning about American Literature from Ms. Pulliam- one of my all-time favorite teachers- and it became my immediate goal to memorize it. A short, sweet and utterly brilliant poem, it brought wonder and awe to my young, contentious mind.

I now feel the need to share it and document in blood (kinda since the internet is forever) how meaningful it is to me and to share it with you.

 

Apparently with no surprise

By: Emily Dickinson

 

Apparently with no surprise

To any happy Flower

The Frost beheads it at its play—

In accidental power—

 

The blonde Assassin passes on—

The Sun proceeds unmoved

To measure off another Day

For an Approving God.

 

 

Ponder that.

💘xoxo

– Am

That is really shitty…

Maybe I am being overly sensitive, but someone shit in the bathroom of my personal office less than five minutes before I arrived back from lunch…

There are only three employees other than myself here today and there are five bathrooms in this office.  Other restrooms (whose offices are not occupied) are vacant for the entire day to air out. But mine was chosen…

And right before I return? So that I can be punched in the face execpectedly on a full stomach? Fucking Yuck.

Bust it wide open.

While sitting at the Comedy Zone last night Ty & I overheard this guy say to his friend “Please…it’s a sure thing; I am about to bust this bitch wide open.”

Ty and I look at each other in shock.

“Well he is awfully confident.” I whisper in Ty’s direction.

“Must be on a date with a hooker,” he replies.

It turned out that he was the opening act…and he did in fact bust that bitch wide open. ShaneIsFunny.com <- (This is the guy!)

💘xoxo

– Am