What Do I Want?

I think I've always been tentative to answer for fear of sounding selfish. I tend to put others' needs or wants ahead, admittedly not always self-lessly. The other half of my hesitance is self-consciousness.

Now I have downtime and the urgency to answer that question before taking my text life-step. So far I'm not sure of the answer but there's no wrong or right. I'm even afraid of what those wants are and changes they inevitably bring. (Change and I aren't friends but we've learned to be civil and even neighbourly.)

These are the hardest:

1) I want to not be afraid of wanting.

2) I want to be honest and good to myself.

3) I want to actually follow through with what it is I'm wanting.

Perhaps (and rightfully so) I should answer "Who am I?" first.

I said, "BURR!"

It's probably 40-some degrees right now. Nebraska refuses to hand over Spring. *sigh* I should know better by now. I'll continue to pretend I'm in the Northwest and someone took the pines and mountains.

Low temperatures have me saying two things I normally wouldn't: I'm cold (I don't get cold easily). I maybe, just maybe, need a man.

Schroeder, former history professor, once said, "Everrry gerrrl should have a boyfrrriend to keep herrr warrrm in winterrr." The man is wise beyond his lifetime.

I'll just settle for a cup of coffee for now.

NaPoWriMo Attempt

A friend told me about NaPoWriMo. I Googled it and found a daily prompt site. I'm not really participating but decided to try April 3's response poem suggestion.

Those of you unfamiliar with "The Walrus and the Carpenter" should check it out before reading mine, as well as "Life Was Supposed to Be." (Apologies to Mr. Lewis Carroll for stealing items from the walrus. Joe, thanks for the inspiration.)

"Life is more," The

Wordbender said.

I thought,

"Quite true indeed."

There was a time

I had new shoes,

And on a ship

sail boiling seas,

When our dreams came

from sealing-wax

instead of serving cabbage

to the king.

Forty-two seems far

away in a foggy space

that makes us look

and nothing see,

But the walrus hasn't

Eaten us yet, and

I somehow believe

pigs do have wings

Ciao, Bella

Months ago (around this time last year, actually) my counselor asked if I was thankful for what I had learned through a situation. Tonight, the question returns.

Someone who was close to me and I had a tete a tete. We hadn't connected in months. As our friendship deteriorated, things grew into a type of stalemate. I backed off because I have seen her ability to let go. Dare say it's impressive and slightly enviable. She stayed away because she had seen and feared the emotional roller coaster attached to fixing my relationships. Admittedly I don't blame her. Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn, but hell has never met me.

However, she said she was proud of me: at gatherings I seemed more confident and better at connecting. No longer did I place my self-worth on other people. Ironically, I'm proud of her too. She got into a relationship, an idea that terrified her; she made commitments to staying in one place, to a job, and her latest, to a fiance. She dove in, she didn't drown, and I'm proud.

Back to the question: am I thankful? In time I will be, I'm sure. Thing is, I really wish I was emotionally connected instead of detached. We each paid for what we learned. On my side of the coin, I think it was a lousy price to pay.

Today goes to show that...

1) Lincoln is bigger than you think

2) It's not always the doctor you want; sometimes it's the receptionist

3) Missing cell phones are to communication as trolls are to bridges

4) Sometimes you do need a GPS

5) The events you couldn't wait for are the ones you sometimes miss

6) People can change

7) Life is full of irony

I Wish for More Than Prayer

Earlier today I received a text from Mami. She said Abuelita called to tell her Abuelito fell, broke his femur, and will be having surgery soon, perhaps tomorrow. His accident happened about eight days ago; he's been in the hospital but hasn't been faring too well.

If in my shoes, some of you might call or visit. The latter would be my ideal, but I can't. You see, my extended family lives in Mexico and I haven't seen them in 19 years this coming June (due to circumstances I can't help).

It's like I'm tied to a parallel universe I remember but haven't experienced in years. I know there's a bond, and I "go back" when I get a chance to communicate with them; I just don't know how strong it still is despite time and space until something like my Abuelito's fall happens. That's when I realize I'm somewhere else and can't do much of anything no matter how secure my ties are. All I can really do is pray and hope for the better, but I wish for more.

"We Were Emergencies"

Poetry is something I need to have spoon-fed to me. So, while I won't take credit for finding this one, I definitely want to share.

"We Were Emergencies" by Buddy Wakefield

A poet
can stick anything into the fog and make it look like a ghost.
But tonight let us not become tragedies.
We are not funeral homes
with propane tanks in our windows
lookin' like cemeteries.
Cemeteries are just the Earth's way of not letting go.
Let go.
Tonight, Poets, let's turn our wrists so far backwards
the razor blades in our pencil tips
can't get a good angle on all that beauty inside.
Step into this
with your airplane parts
and repeat after me with your heart:
I no longer need you to fuck me as hard as I hate myself.
Make love to me
like you know I am better than the worst thing I ever did.
Go slow.
I'm new to this
but I have seen nearly every city from a rooftop without jumping.
I have realized the moon did not have to be full for us to love it.
We are not tragedies
stranded here beneath it.

If my heart really broke every time I fell from love
I'd be able to offer you confetti by now
but hearts don't break, y'all,
they bruise and get better.
We were never tragedies.
We were emergencies.
You call 9-1-1.
Tell them I'm havin' a fantastic time.