...

Beauty is a mighty weight when really seen in its completeness.

I Walk the Line

I watched a movie tonight and I could only think of you. I remembered how you would sing to me and I would smile. I remembered how you danced with me and how we would laugh with joy as we spun and twirled until we were out of breath.  I also remembered how we know each other and what we have been through.  I remember the lives we have lived even though they weren't lived with each other. I remember when you told me you loved me and that you never said it again.  I remember how after you said it I felt your regret.  I can feel the joy intermixed with the heartache that I've felt in the arms of my friend.

The memories are so vivid that I can taste the Lucky Strikes in my mouth and feel the bits of tobacco on my tongue because I could never learn that twirl you do to the end.  I feel that emotion of frustration within me as if I were in that moment now.  I feel the joy. I feel the regret. I can hear the music and the song you sing and I am in your arms once again. 

I can feel myself being mad at you for being intoxicated and obstinate, and being independent and stubborn. Wait, that last part was me.  I can also feel the connection between us and I forget.  I remember the moments like they were yesterday of feeling like we were as one. I forget that you have this other life that I was never a part of.  I forget that you existed before I met you.   I think it comes from where and how we met.  It's almost as though you are a character that just appeared one day in the book I write about my life.

I did not know the day I met you that you would be more to me than just another person in that room.  That is the place I was in when I first met you.  I can only begin to imagine what place you were in even though I listened and heard the pain emanating from within you. I would see pieces of you in people I met through everywhere I traveled from that day onward.

The day I saw you again I felt a spark and realized just how much I missed you. I remember the day I started to pull away and I even knew why; I couldn't stop myself.  Did you know I was pulling away? Did you know I left? If you did, did you know why?  I cannot imagine that your conclusion would have been correct. Unless, that is, that you remembered what a stranger was saying so long ago as she talked in circles of fear and neglect amongst the thoughts of the terrified within that room in which we first met.

No road can be traveled to reach you at this moment; no letter can be sent.  I miss my friend and I cannot tell you that. So, I sit here on Christmas Eve as the clock turns to midnight writing to you knowing that even if you were on this continent tonight, my friend wouldn't be here to dance or to sing to me because your life is elsewhere and also because I left. 

Lost and Found

 

For those who search for what I've found
I sought for life's answers abound.
As I lay awake in bed at night
I search the world to see the light.
I know not what I'll do
but I make my lists to see things through.

I try and try, yet I make mistakes.
I search my world with all it takes.
I've learned a lot,
but my travels aren't through.
My life is just now starting anew.

I hold what's dear close to my heart.
My world just seems to fall apart.
My life has never been as it seems.
I lie in bed and search my dreams.

One day I dream to be happy and free
and to know myself just as Me.

--Me

Memory Book in My Mind

  
Laying here in the dark I flip through the memory book in my mind. The still shots and video play one by one as I pull them up to remember friends, places, and moments that have passed by. They are all there reminding me of courage, friendship, kindness, bravery, zest, freedom, audacity, goofiness, and fun. I feel the laughter that made my cheeks hurt, the hellos and goodbyes, the birthdays and the ceremonies, the trips down memory lane with old friends. I see stills of people only seen once that burnt into my soul. I see the pictures of the trips I took. I remember the time my mother woke me in the middle of the night when it snowed; we played in the flakes and giggled together as we snuck through the cold wet night.   I can hear the rumble of the car and feel the chill of the night through the window as I saw my first glimpse of the moon in the sky.  The moment of awe when I saw my first Leonardo da Vinci painting in the Hermitage and the minutes that ticked by as I wept in the presence of my favorite Monet in the Guggenheim are textured with life and beauty.

I feel the emotions and sensations of every scene. I can smell the wonderful scents of grandma's cookies and the orchid scented air with the first breath I took when stepping from the plane in Hawaii. I feel the heat of the heater on high with the wind blowing through the car in the old Taurus (so it didn't overheat) on an August trip with an old friend. I remember moments that made my heart skip and made the world feel still just because someone I admired spoke to me or whispered my name in kindness. I feel them all as if I were amid each moment yet again.

This one particular book is filled with reminders that life is filled with the little moments that make everything else seem worthwhile. No fire or natural disaster can take this book away. It is mine to hold on to. It contains the stories of my life.

Our minds hold our memory books from the beginning to the end.

42

How many people are trying to find their place in this world? How many have given up and are just here awaiting the end of their lives?  How many of the people do I see everyday go to sleep with a smile on their face or cry themselves to sleep, whether it be aloud or in their soul? 

Could this actually be Heaven or Hell, or even purgatory, a waiting area for our souls, trapped inside these physical temples of our minds?  Where are we? What are we?  We are humanoids on a tiny blue dot in the universe.  Do those questions even matter?  Does it matter that some of us spend our days and nights trying to understand the meaning of life?

I Googled the meaning of life one night.  The question was populated already.  How many others had searched for this answer on the Internet, the least likely place to find it?  I'm not sure there is an answer, at least not one that will make sense to any of us. 

Maybe our time here is what we make of it.  Maybe we are just suppose to be kind to each other and be a community of one?  Part of the problem with that is that all communities have outsiders, bullies, traitors, and thieves.  Our micro and macro communities (from our individual selves to our entire planet) have trials and tribulations.  Eternal and everlasting peace is not possible here on the tiny blue dot, nor within ourselves. All peace is temporary and sweet; from a quiet moment of enjoying a piece of warm pie, to a long walk on a sunny day, to countries getting along. 

On this planet, it is temporary.  Even what people consider to be Heaven and Hell is exclusive to those that follow certain paths.  What does this mean in regards to peace on earth or even within ourselves?  I'm not sure. I do not have these answers.  I have just many questions and speculations.  I search for the answers and I do not know why; and I question that, too.

Free Stuff?

So I did a little people watching experiment today.  Some neighbors moved out a few houses down.  They left some furniture by the trash bins at the curb.  I added some items to the mix, photographed each piece, and put up a "curb alert" with photos on Craigslist.  I searched the "wanted" postings and anonymously called the ones that requested some free items that matched what was on the curb (I was trying to be helpful). 

At this point I had three types of freecyclers; the drive-bys, the Craigslist scourers, and the ones that posted that they needed items.  Then I sat on my porch and watched. I watched people slow down to look, people pull over and get out, some came back with vehicles to carry the items.  Some were very excited, some did not seem to see anything they wanted.  Some pulled up in their trucks, casually loaded the item of their desire and left.  Most people looked around to see if people were watching...maybe they felt guilt or shame? Did they think they were stealing? There wasn't a "free" sign on anything.  It was next to the garbage bins, though.  My bet is those are not the people who saw the items on Craigslist.  I, too, like free stuff. I also like freecycling.

I did enjoy watching people load their vehicles with smiles on their faces with such good finds.  After each item was taken to a new home, I updated the posting to let people know what remained.

There were two ladies that made me smile the most today.  They parked across the street in an apartment parking lot.  One got out first, walked over to the faux suede couch, got excited, ran back to the truck and got in. The other woman got out, did the same thing and ran back to the truck.  Then, together, the women moseyed, no sauntered nonchalantly (the way they were they could have even been whistling), over to the couch, then immediately grabbed each end and ran across the street, loaded it in the truck, and drove away quickly.  It gave me the giggles.

All the items are now in a new place where people wanted them.  The ad has been deleted.  My Sunday evening was filled with pleasure seeing people get excited over free stuff.  Now, I know there is no such thing as free, but a few things happened today: one, the stuff didn't end up in a landfill; two, some people in need got some things to help them out; and three, the only price they paid was the price of me watching people getting excited about free stuff. All of this made me happy, even if for just one evening. I don't think the price was too steep.

My Crypt

As I laid there entwined within your body,
I listened to your healthy heart beating in your chest.
It soothed me.
It lulled me to the sleep I had missed.
The feeling was fleeting,
I had to run from peace back to my crypt. 
The thump thump thump of your heart pumping
life through your veins was beautiful
and overwhelming.
I ran to be alone.
I understand alone.
I ran from my desire to hear your heart beating...
to hear life that is fleeting.
Beautiful Life.

...

Sometimes the truest friends are the strangers you meet and never see again.

Pay It Forward and the phone call that made my day.

I just received a phone call from a woman that took my resume workshop this July. She said I changed her life because I cared enough to help, that I took my personal time to help her. She is now the career advisor for an institute. She called to tell me that I taught her how to be proud of herself, to have courage, and to do the best resume they had seen. I made a difference in someones life and it was good. She told me she was putting a budget together to pay me to help the students there on my free time from work and wanted to let me know what she was planning because I "had the ability to change lives."

I cried with such a sweet smile on my face. I actually did something that made a difference. I helped her by just being me. And to think, summer of 2009 I just started over in a new town in a new state with $400, my dog, no job, no friends and no family. I have succeeded in doing what I wanted in life...making a difference in at least one person's life...to teach them how to get up from down-and-out and learn skills to better themselves, to be productive, and to help others. Strangely enough, I now realize I also did that for myself, too.

People have always wanted to know why I didn't do something with my life that was better than a lowly social worker or a writer. Old friends have asked, "I thought you would be a brain surgeon, an astronaut, or a physicist by now, what happened? Why did you choose social work?" Well, because that is my personality. I'm a helper. My last boss knew that. He told me, "April it is who you are, not what you do. My bet is that you have always been a social worker." I have and will continue to be.

Restlessness and Sleepless Nights

The people here have become restless.  It's starting to eat me alive just being amongst it.

People are snapping, flipping, and doing things they wouldn't normally do.  It's affecting everyone...good decent people and people who normally behave badly are making choices to become worse than they were before. 

My favorite hangout, that used to feel like a homey place, now feels like an abusive husband that takes every good thought or decent piece of yourself away.  It is a monstrosity that is beginning to eat at me.  It is no longer welcoming.  It is no longer a safe place that wants us back.  It is a business.  It is making money off of the truly desperate, the lonely, and the ones who once felt only safety within those particular walls. 

It is a monstrosity and it is alive; sucking our souls dry while it wets our lips with fear, anger, and sin.

Things I've said...

It can't be real because there is nothing there. 

It can't be real because there is nothing ever there.

Here with all the pieces

I'm in a place I'd never thought I would be.  I've barely held on.  I've stayed.  I haven't stayed put, but I am still here.  Something is here for me.  I'm not afraid of living alone, yet my fear is of living without just a little piece of peace.  I just can't walk away from this life. There is so much beauty here on earth.  How do I surround myself with it?  How do I take those pieces I've found and bring them with me wherever I am? 

Escapism

I've noticed a lot of escapism throughout my journey and this journey amongst others.  There are so many ways to escape.  None of them work because you can never escape.  You must fight those battles that need to be fought.  You must follow through with what needs to be done to move on and get on. 

People try to escape from their hometown, their jobs, their lives.  You, yourself, are your home.  You are where the roots are located.  There is no house, apartment, no city, no state that is your home.  A person can travel throughout the world and never find home if they don't know it is inside of them. 

Just nod if you can hear me...

Some people listen to everything you say and remember it. Other people were never listening to begin with, so they don't remember the important things you've told them.

Every once in a while, someone will repeat something to me that I said to them days, weeks, months, even years before. People will tell me they remembered it because it was funny, or profound, or they finally understood the meaning (hey, I don't always convey my point very well).

During the end of my senior year in high school, one of my friends repeated a joke/pun that I made up and said once in a conversation four years before. I swore up and down that I didn't say such an embarrassing pun, but then I realized it had to do with someone in my life and I finally recalled saying it out loud. That might have been the first time I realized some people pay attention, even when I'm not paying attention to myself, or just when it is a pun in passing.

Part of the time I will speak my random thoughts aloud.  Other times I wonder if what I was thinking was even said when I meant to say it.  So many thoughts constantly run through my head that I honestly try to only speak 1 out of 10 thoughts so I'm not constantly talking.  I don't ever seem to quit talking anyway.  Maybe I should pick 1 out of 50.  I often get strange looks and comments like, "that was random," "Random Girl speaks again", or just shouts of "random."  I swear all my thoughts are connected.  If I said them all in a row they would make sense.  There is logic behind the scenes.  The thoughts do connect.  My friends call it April Logic.

I go through phases of trying not to speak and just sit quietly.  It's difficult for me.  I like engaging conversation, as well as, to tell stories.  I do have the ability to sit quietly if only for short periods of time.  It just requires concentration on my part to sit still and not be a part of what's going on.  When I am quiet, people question if I am feeling well or if I am okay.  It's rather odd.

As for listening and trying not to hear or remember what is said...

At a former temp job (3 very long months) pretty much everyone I worked around commented on how I never said much of anything and I was always busy working.  When they would mention it, I would smile and continue to work.  "If they only knew," I'd think.  It was an experiment for me, plus, I later realized these women were pretty stupid and very obnoxious.  Anything I would have said to them would have gone over their heads or would have been extremely rude. This is not a conceited statement.  A third grade drop-out would have confused these women with the intelligence that an elementary student drop-out exudes.  Their inane constant conversations caused me great pain.  I wanted to explain what was wrong/incorrect with every-single-statement that came out of their mouths.  For some reason I can still remember some of these conversations and it bothers me.  My brain does not need to be filled with such nonsense.  It was a test.  I started working with purple foam earplugs in my ears so as not to listen to them anymore.  Part of the reason I even mention this is because even though I was not part of their conversations, I had to come up with an active solution to not hear them so I wouldn't remember what they said.  You know, just in case stupidity is contagious.

This is not to say that I, myself, don't say extremely stupid and embarrassing things.  My internal filter doesn't catch everything.  It does let me know that I've said something really stupid or inappropriate after it comes out.  When this happens the quote that goes through my head is, "I carried the watermelons." (Bonus points for those of you who can name that movie.) The awkwardness that came with the delivery of that line speaks volumes about how I feel when I say something extremely stupid sounding. 

Let me get back to the listening and remembering part... 

There are those people that are superb with faking that they are listening.  They use active listening skills: the nod, the lean in, the mmm hmms, the smiles or frowns at seemingly appropriate times.  If you pay attention to the listener as you talk you can see through this false attention.  The speaker also has to listen while speaking to understand if the audience is entertained or even if they care to hear what is being said. 

To tell you a little about myself, when I start to talk excessively there are a few different things that could possibly be going on.  I could be nervous.  I could just feel extremely passionate about the subject.  I could be using a verbal slight-of-hand so I can pay attention to everything and everyone else so no one notices I am checking out the surroundings.  In this situation, I gain more knowledge of what is going on around me by listening and paying attention while distracting my listeners with a story or anecdote.  That strategy actually works pretty well.

I don't expect everyone to always listen to everything everyone says. We all have a lot on our minds.  I've been in the situation where I just wanted someone to just stop talking and get to the point.  We all have, I'm sure.  Every once in a while I am reminded that people are really listening.  They do really pay attention.  I just find it strange what it is that they remember.

Something I heard many years ago was "People may not remember what you said.  They may not remember what you did.  But, they remember how you made them feel." This is important to me because I don't ever want to make people feel worthless, useless, boring, stupid, or unlovable, no matter who they are or what they've done.  Of course there are times when I want to tell them how I really feel, but it's not usually my place to do so.  Final judgement does not come from me.  It comes from somewhere else. 

So, I'll listen as attentively as I can every time.  I may not remember everything that is said, but I'll listen.  I'll be there for you.  Some things are just more memorable than others.  I get that.

Resistance...Is it really futile?

I cannot judge those around me for being sad, ridiculous fools when I chase after something I don't even want; this thing I don't even like.  I don't respect it.  It actually repulses me most of the time, yet I chase it.  It is some sort of pointless game of cat and mouse.  If I were to catch it, I would throw it back.  I'm pretty sure.  Positive, in fact. 

So why have I spent two months of my life wasting my time?  I should know the answer to this question.  I say this because I know I don't even like it.  The answer should be a given.  So I ask myself, "What is wrong with me?"  I'm changing.  I'm growing.  I am becoming me again.  It is very possible that I chase this stupid, nasty, crass thing because I am afraid to keep growing.  The familiar uncomfortable, painful, bad choices draw me to this game because it is what I have known for years. 

The familiar feels safe no matter how unsafe and painful it may be.  I must resist this temptation to settle for less than I deserve.  I must resist the temptation to choose to fail because I am afraid to succeed.  This is only one of the reasons I cannot judge those sad, pathetic fools I see around me. 

Forget catch and release.  I'll just cut the line and let it go. And forget the mouse.  He's tasteless anyway.

On The Road Again

At some point in your life you may realize that you were meant to travel through this journey on your own without a companion.  It stings at first, then you get used to it.  Well, maybe you never get used to it.

Sometimes the strongest woman you see during the day is the one who cries herself to sleep at night.

Things usually start out great in relationships, then you realize, in that moment of clarity, that it will never work.  It just cannot.  Someone told me the other day that he loves me.  For some reason I just don't believe it is real.  If I let go, it will hurt.  It will be painful.  It won't last.  When you know this, when you really know this, do you still go on with the relationship or do you just call it quits?  When do you get courage to let go?  Is it at that moment of realization?  Is it after a few weeks or months?  Is it right before you walk down the aisle?  Is it right after the marital kiss and you definitely know it's wrong so you just don't sign the papers?

Our brain (or our heart/chest) tells us something, but is it doubt?  Is it fear of the past coming through keeping us from possible happiness or is it real?  What is perceived is real, right?  Perception is everything, is it not?  Is there some reason that I long to feel loved, but run when there is even the possibility? 

How do you know when it is instinct screaming at you or paranoia buzzing in your head?  The mind can play tricks on you or try to protect you and the signals get crossed.  If you touch a hot stove burner out of curiosity as a child, you learn and the brain reminds you to stay away.  Self preservation kicks in.  It seems the same with emotions. If a person never experiences emotional anguish, though, can that person ever truly understand joy or happiness?  Don't we have to know one to know the other?

"The life I love is making music with my friends...Going places that I've never been.  Seein' things that I may never see again...on the road again."

Beauty is a tender thing.  It comes in quick moments and long lingering gazes.

Courage

Sitting in the dark every morning as the sun crests over the horizon, building up the nerve for just one more day. 

Is it lying if you tell yourself, "You can do this.  Just take each moment as it comes."?

Crude

The night is filled with a kind of sadness and somber quiet.

Tonight as I drove by the Pensacola Beach sign "Whitest beaches in the World" flashing its bright bulbs, a small sigh came out from within me.

Even though the heat was unbearable, I drove with the windows down and the a/c  off. A dose of reality is pertinent at certain times to keep tabs on who and where we are. The smell coming off the ocean breeze burnt my nostrils as the humility overcame me. I drove straight to the beautiful white sand beaches, arriving just minutes before the first of the night-time cleanup crew buses arrived.

People of all ages and backgrounds stood around quietly, whispering if they even dared to talk. It was dark, the 3/4 moon shone brightly, reflecting off the waves of oil rushing in with the tide. This morning Pensacola Beach woke up to black beaches for the first time since the "spill". This is the first day the oil showed up in waves instead of globs on Pensacola Beach. What is happening is incomprehensible to most everyone.

Double red flags line the beach warning people not of dangerous surf, but of the murderous, toxic stickiness soaking into the sand, killing millions of lifeforms from microscopic organisms to large sea mammals.

Will the cleanup crews get sick and die a slow torturous death like so many of those who helped clean up a drunken ship captain's spilled drink in back in 1989? One thing that is certain, they will never forget this job. It will stick with them in their memories like the tar sticks to their rubber boots as they pointlessly shovel up and bag scoops of sand that formerly only contained happy memories of their childhood playground, vacations, weekends, and holidays. They shovel and throw away millions of faint memories replacing them with tears and stinging nostrils.

The Dance

I've never been in love.  I'm almost positive about that.  I may have romantically loved another person, maybe.  I still don't understand this love thing.  My only understanding of this is that I know I care for my dog more than anything.  Maybe I love my dog.  She loves me unconditionally.  No matter how I feel, she is happy with me, she is sad with me, she is content or worries with me.  She is my best friend, but when I talk and ask her questions on life, she can only listen, intently as she can, but never imparts any of her wisdom.  I know she has it, but she cannot speak.  Her eyes tell me, her paws pat at my knees.

I was watching couples together the other night out at the beach on a literal dance floor.  I saw lust.  I saw joy.  I saw emotion.  It is hard to hide emotions when you dance, especially if you really let go and open up.  I watched this one couple on the floor dancing throughout the night.  They were comfortable.  They were...in love?  When they passed by me, I asked the glowing woman if they were married to each other, or if they had just started dating.  She told me that it was their 20th Wedding Anniversary.  Beautiful.  Love.  Love must be the comfort one feels with another.  It must be the feeling of confidence, knowing you are with your best companion.  It must be joy.  It must be fulfilling.  Is love happiness?  I think it may sometimes be pleasure or joy, and happiness is not constant, so what is love?  Is it the ability to stick around when the tough is tough and the simple is easy?

It takes work to be a partner or companion to another.  I just don't believe it should take too much work.  If it takes too much effort and a person has to try too hard, it's not a good relationship.  That's not love, right?  That is a fight.  That might be co-dependency.  Many people live on co-dependency.  I don't need anything but the necessities.  I need air, water, food, and some sort of shelter.  I do not need a man.  I desire many things, including a companion, but I won't settle for less than a great friend...not again.

Hormones and brain chemistry try to confuse us into thinking we are in love.  I've read that eating chocolate releases the same chemicals in our brain that are released when we feel like we are in love.  In either of these instances, we are not in love.  We may love chocolate, or the idea of doing something pleasureful, but love is not what is happening.  Our bodies are telling us that we need to procreate and propagate our species.  That is just nature.  In this time of the world, we have somewhat surpassed just the natural instincts of our species.  We have evolved into more of a pack type species than we were before.  We need each other for different reasons.  We feel we need long-term partners.  It is a mixture of instinct and learned behavior.  It is different than the time before when we (or the species we evolved from--the Australopithecus) slept in trees, procreated, used violent behavior to communicate with the opposite sex, and just lived by our basic natural instincts.  Do not misunderstand me, some humans are still in that phase.

As our species' life-span has grown longer, the partnerships we have or desire to have has changed.  Our society has changed.  The basic desire to be loved, accepted, wanted is still there, yet the motivation to actually pursue it has evolved.  Lots of people are waiting  for the perfect mate, or select the first one to come along.  We might be missing the point.  Are we looking for perfection?  We have to be able to understand what perfection really is.  That definition is up to the individual.  It is no longer the dictionary, literal term.  There is no perfect human.  We all have flaws, secrets, baggage, traumas, and aftershocks of relationships gone bad. 

I had a list once of my perfect man.  I found one that fit this list.  I should have been more specific and put the definitely-do-not-wants on this wish list of mine.  It almost killed me.  It made me realize more of what I really wanted.  I am pickier now.  I can be.  I need no one to take care of me.  I need no one to make me happy.  If I cannot find happiness within myself, how can some other person make me happy?  Enjoyment comes from finding that person you can share your excitement or happy moments with, and one who will be there when the joy is not as well.  Maybe one day I will fall in love, whatever that may be.  Maybe I won't.  If I love who I am, that is good enough.  I'm complex, but extremely simple. 

Some of the answers I seek when I meet someone are from questions like these:
Will you be caring, honest, kind, compassionate, passionate?  Will you dance with me?  Will you kiss me in the rain?  Will you be considerate to me and the people around us?  Will you do your best to be conscientious?  Do you listen and remember?  Do you respond in kind?  Do you get me to laugh?  Do you want me or need me? 

I have no desire to be needed.  My desire is to have someone want to be with me.  If he doesn't, that's okay.  It's not worth the fight.  I know I am worth the risk.  The risk I speak of is heartbreak and reality; what happens in life.  Everyone leaves.  I have said it before.  They may leave by choice or they may leave by death.  Everyone leaves eventually.  We must not worry about the leaving part.  We must enjoy the now. 

Some day, if I live long enough to be old, I wish for someone to sit with me on the porch, maybe in silence, maybe to listen to my random thoughts.  If dementia hits us, I want to be glad to re-meet that same man on the porch that knows every little thing about me (or did at one point) and still wants to be by my side.  I desire a partner, a best friend.  I know all desires are not met.  Just call me an idealistic realist.  As for now, I'll just dance.

My 21st Birthday

One of my favorite actors when I was in high school was John Corbett (the radio DJ from the TV show Northern Exposure, later to be the groom in My Big Fat Greek Wedding).  I came back to Seattle to visit a friend and some family for my 21st birthday.  I knew Mr. Corbett had opened a club downtown Seattle and I had decided to go on my birthday with a friend of mine (He shall not be named. You know who you are.)  The club was The Fenix Underground.  I didn't like alcohol and didn't drink, but I had heard the he was in his club quite often.  So, I really wanted to go on the day of my birthday. 

I'm not a celebrity chaser and I have only asked for one autograph in my entire life. It was from the Vice President of the United States of America.  So, my purpose was just to listen to music in a club and hopefully see John Corbett.  Easy enough, right?

There was a long line at the door, so when my friend and I get to the bouncer, we were ready to get out of the cold rain.  My friend (who turned 21 six days before me) gave the bouncer his ID, pays for himself, then disappears into the club...not knowing what was about to happen. 

So I smile and hand the bouncer my ID...here is where I digress (I do that a lot)...I got my drivers license when I was 17, so it hadn't expired yet.  AND since I got my drivers license at 17 AND at age 17 I looked at most 12 (for instance, on my 16th birthday, I was automatically charged the 11 year old and younger rate for my movie ticket).  So the ID looked suspicious to the bouncer.  The bouncer stares me down, hands back the ID and says, "Yeah, I don't think so."  I was confused. "Why? Today is my 21st birthday!?" I proclaim.  He told it was a fake ID and there was no possible way I was 21.  Arrrggghh! Okay, I could handle it, but the line was backing up. I told him my friend just went in and he is only 6 days older.  The bouncer laughed.  I argued, politely of course, that in no way could the ID be a fake.  "Why on earth would I say TODAY was my 21st birthday on a fake ID?"  It didn't make any sense. 

After about  a half an hour of trying to reason with this very large laughing man, I look up.  My jaw drops, and there HE is.  He's walking towards us.  Oh, my.  He's even better looking in person. I think, "how embarrassing." So, Mr. Corbett comes over to find out what is holding up the line.  The bouncer says, "this little girl is trying to pass off a fake ID to get in."  The owner takes the ID from the bouncer, looks at it, smiles, and says, "smile for me, April." 

If you know me, you know at least two things: one, I blush the color of a cooked lobster...even the part in my hair turns red; and two, I have a goofy grin.  So I immediately blush, try to stifle the goofy grin and try to put on a pretty smile instead.  It doesn't work. The goofy grin shows up anyway.  So, I get the biggest grin of my life.  He looks back at the bouncer, shows him the ID, and says, "This is definitely her...look at her beautiful smile."  Could I get any redder?  The bouncer still proclaims that it's a fake and the owner says (which I smiled even more and scream "HA!"--in my head of course)...he says, "If it were a fake ID, why on earth would it say 'under 21' and why would she put that TODAY was her 21st birthday?"  I loved this man's reasoning. 

So, JC, my new best friend, asks me to come in, no cover charge, and says he wants to buy me my first drink on my 21st birthday.  "I don't drink alcohol," I say. He looked at me strangely, laughs, and wants to know why I stood in line in the rain, argued with the bouncer for 30 minutes to get into a club if I don't drink.  My mind races..."Think fast, April! Reason one, I wanted to see you. No don't say that.  Reason two...think, April, think. Damn it!"  "Umm, I knew you owned the club?"  I blush, again! Uggh.

He said, "well, what do you want to drink?  Anything you like, it is on me."  ...hmm, I love Shirley Temples...do NOT say that.  Ask for a virgin screwdriver, no that's just a stupid way of asking for a glass of orange juice (thanks, mom).  Executive decision...I'm going with the Shirley Temple.  "Shirley Temple, please."  More chuckling from him.  Thanks.  "Do you want anything else, it's on me." (I wished he would stop saying that, I'm way too literal)..."extra cherries?" I say.  Oh my God, please let me die!  As a great bartender, he pours me the best Shirley Temple ever, and gives me an entire glass of extra cherries.  Awesome. 

Later that night, when I finally found my friend, who had been drinking quite a bit, I took his keys away from him after much argument.  To this day, I'm the only female to ever drive the truck he called Black Beauty.  My 21st birthday was a great success.  I enjoyed myself, met John Corbett, he bought me a drink, I got to drive the Black Beauty...good stuff.

P.S. I was carded for every rated "R" movie I went to until I was 36.  That's okay, I can live with that. 

Women's Bathrooms at Bars

There is a reason women take forever in the bar bathrooms.  Sometimes there is a really long line.  Lots of times they are "adjusting", reapplying makeup, checking their teeth, smoothing out their dresses or outfits, or just plain putting everything back in its place.  Oh, and they go in there to gossip...about everything. It's almost as if the bathroom is a secret world where they think no one else can hear them. 

If it weren't a bathroom, I would stand in there taking notes of the stuff I overheard because it is entertaining.  I feel for those bathroom attendants who hand out hairspray, mints, hand towels, and such while they have to listen to the various noises and smells emanating from the users in the bathroom.  At lease they have some sort of amusement listening to the patrons?

But I digress.  Women don't necessarily dress for men.  They think they do.  They try short shirts, tight shirts, low-cut tops, but in reality, they really just don't want to be judged by the other women. 

Some conversations that can be over heard are, "Do I look too skanky?" "How does my cleavage look?" "Can you seem my underwear line?"  "How's my hair?" "Do you think so-and-so noticed me?" "OMG, did you see what so-and-so was wearing?"  Sometimes there are questions and comments to improve upon something even so simple as, "Your tag is showing." What type of lip gloss is that, it is great." Other times women just compliment each other without prompts.  It goes on and on. 

The women's bathroom has many purposes at a bar.  One is to definitely relieve oneself, meaning urinating or just taking a break, gossipping, rearranging...and planning.  There is a lot of planning that goes on in a bar bathroom. So, guys, next time a woman says "the line was really long," it might have been the case, but that just might not be the only reason.  They had a plan.

Everyone's Journey is each others

Everyone's journey in life is connected.  We may not each feel it as we stand alone in this over-populated world, but if you sit and listen you can hear the loneliness, the pain, the anger, the joy, the pleasure, or the gladness of life.

Most of us want to feel something different than how we already do, but somewhere, even in the same room, someone is wishing they felt like you.

I've been going to new places, watching people, learning from them:

The lonely man smoking and drinking in the corner with all his burdens out for all to see, even in his silence.

The young woman with the shrill laughter that is filled with an unmistakable insecurity and phony fun as she complains about anything to anyone who will listen to her grating and unsettling voice.

The small groups of young men out on the prowl for something they think they desire as they brag about their meaningless accomplishments to each other if no females will listen. 

The young women are out for attention in search of some idea of this elusive falling in love with a man at a bar who sounds so accomplished and looks pretty in his neatly pressed clothes.

There is the bartender doing her job, smiling, putting up with the irate drunks who hound her and bother her, yet she puts on the face of a professional, works hard and fast.  She listens, multi-tasks and gets the job done.  The bartender's job isn't just to serve drinks.  Her job isn't necessarily to listen to sob stories, but she gives people what they ask for without outward judgement.  She is like the figurative psychiatrist dispensing the liquid drug to her patients. In this case, the patients just tell her the concoction they think will do the trick.  I find this woman to be impressive as I watch her work and deal.  She has her own story, yet it doesn't show. Steadily she works in her friendly manner as the patrons make demands.

As the night wears on, the real faces, without the masks, start to show on the customers who just don't want to go home, or haven't found someone to go home to.  Sometimes the people just give up, walk away, and leave to go back to the world they were escaping from.  Sometimes they leave because the lights come on after the final last call and they go somewhere else to locate their wishes they have for themselves.  When they don't find it, probably because they don't know what the really desire, they come back night after night. 

The same people in the same place makes it almost like a family that is accepting of them as they/we go through our journey making turns and getting lost along the way.  It always feels good to walk in and be given a warm friendly welcome.

No matter where you are in your journey, someone else is right there with you.  Your journey is theirs and their journey is yours.  We are all connected.  We just hope to connect to each other on a deeper level and really feel the way we desire.

The Mimic?

Is there a place in this world for me?  Will there be time for me to see? I am afraid.  Frightened.  Petrified to the core.  I am useless and forgotten.  In this life is there more?  Am I missing the point by looking so hard?  I am confused and alone; sad and unknown...to myself.

I stare into the mirror.  The reflection is not me.  Who is that? Is that what they see? "Who are you?" I ask aloud to the person in the mirror.  I am not proud.  She is older and different. A stranger is looking back at me.  She mimics my movements, but I see no thoughts.  When there is no mirror, the thoughts are surrounding me, vivid for all to see.  Transparent? Not me. 

My body has a mask.  Walls built up in a flash.  Over the years rebuilt and repaired.  Stronger than ever, I do not dare to break through the walls to find out who's there. 

Sleep Evades Me

Without pain
you do not know life. 
Without love
you do not know life.
I do not know life.
I only know the half of it.
Pain comes and goes.
Life is fleeting,
yet seems so long.
I cry at the beauty of life.
I cry out in pain.
I still see no future,
yet I have been living my own for all these years.
Time floats before us
and passes by us.
Constant is time.
Constant is pain.
Consistency is permanent
as we float on by.
I try as I might for
a positive foot holding.
Suffering is holding me here afloat.
Let me be gone.
Gone amongst the wind
to the multitude of stars in the sky.
Let me see from far above
to find my way in the land without love.
I search, not to be in love,
but to live around love...
Compassion, passion, desire, and hope.
Seeking clarity.
Holding on to the tendrils left on my rope.
Climb as I may
float as I might,
the end is near.
Fight through the night.
Sleep evades me.
Thoughts invade me.
Let it rain and cleanse me.
The guilt of sin betrays me
through the restless nights. 
Walk on through life.
Keep laughing, keep smiling.
Pretend to see what is right.
We are all lost and afraid.
Society is dismayed.
Civilization has an end
because man has no friend.

What do you do?

What would you do if someone said this to you:

"Sometimes when I am not so inflicted with self doubt, hate, sadness, and just being self-involved in the emptiness inside, I will glance around and see worry in the eyes of those around me. 

It is painful to see, yet I feel more human because someone noticed, yet I worry, because they saw through me.  I can hold this, I have been for a lifetime, but it hurts to see others try to carry my burden. 

Even my puppy lies beside me and cries.  That hurts the most.  She sneaks up beside me to comfort and be with me.  Humans do not do this.  They do not know what to say or do. She lays her head in my lap, if she can, and tries to lick the tears away.  She doesn't know that it is a great attempt at the impossible. 

Today, I was not able to hide the worry, self hatred and the doubt that I usually can.  I felt stupid, ridiculous, like a phony.  I felt like Holden Caulfield, except I knew that I was the biggest phony of them all. 

I see the worry, concern, or just the passing glance of uncertainty and I hide.  I laugh it off and say I am concentrating, trying to solve a puzzle in my head.  They fall for it because it is easier for them.  People are not equipped to deal with the pain of others.  They can barely hold their own.  But when my innocent puppy looks at me with sadness and worry, it gets to me.  It eats me alive, and I want to die even more. 

Usually I can get away with covering up the emptiness and the depression, but sometimes it hits full force and there is nothing stopping it...like a Big Rig with bad brakes...it just slams into you with no remorse. 

What doesn't make you stronger, kills you.  I am dying slowly, and it just seems to be some sort of punishment that goes for so long...like water torture.  A person can handle it for a while, but then, it just causes irritation, then anguish, then it is too much.  I can't even find a word other than torture.  Something slices and dices my soul every day and I don't know how to stop it.  The outside looks good, the inside is butchered beyond belief.  You can't call it baggage.  You have to call it a massacre of entrails.  A person has to hide this.  There is no help.  No one can ever help.  They will reject you because they have been rejected."

What would you do if someone said this to you?  I've been thinking about this all day, and I don't know what to say or do.  There isn't anything anyone can do, is there? Maybe hold the inflicted?  That comfort may only last a few minutes or hours.  What really does help?  I don't know.  When someone is drowning, you can pull them out, but how do you really save them?  I wish I could save the world, but I am only one.  What would you do if someone said this to you?

Age

If you choose to live, growing chronologically older is mandatory; growing up is a choice; feeling young is a state of mind.  Don't let other people tell you what to feel about yourself.  It is their faults and failures that they force upon you. Be who you are, become who you want to be, do what you desire as long as it hurts no one including yourself.  Be good, be kind, be free, speak freely, speak your mind, do what is important, be important because you are.  Life is full of pain and sorrow. Everyone will leave you somehow, be it through choice or by death.  Love those you love.  Love those who love you. Dance when you need to move. Feel everything, do everything, be everything.  Put all of yourself in everything you do.  Be in the present moment.  You are your past, your present, and your future all at the same time.  Do not dwell on what once was, just learn and grow.  Do not settle for less than you deserve, or what you think you might deserve.  Be free.  Freedom is our right as human beings.  Take it.  Use it.  Love it.  Stop selling yourself short. Stop putting limitations on yourself that you have been told to do.  Except no rejection as a rejection upon yourself.  You are beautiful.  You are strong, even when you feel your weakest.  Cry if you need to, just don't let the bullies see you do it. Be safe. Be sound. Just be.

PMS

What is a good sign that you might suffer from that ridiculous-sounding over-used term called PMS?

I went to the doctor a few years ago complaining of headaches, moodiness, and cyclical depressive symptoms. Normally when I go to the doctor because of a persistent illness or symptom it seems to magically disappear when the doctor steps into the room, only to return after I have paid the bill and arrive home (similar to car problems and mechanic shops). Anyway, unlike the usual turn of events, during this visit, I am quite grumpy, short-tempered, and rather impatient with the doctor. I tell him my symptoms, show him the calendar I have been meticulously plotting the symptoms on, and he states, "You have PMS." "WHAT? PMS? I do NOT have PMS. That is just something people say when women are grumpy."

**Just to note, men usually get the timing wrong on that anyway. PMS and "being on the rag" are not even the same thing. P (Pre) M (Menstrual) S (Syndrome) and the time where a women is actually menstruating are not the same time frame (i.e., pre-menstruation v. during-menstruation).

So, back to my story. I was technically in the pre-menstrual stage at the time of the doctor visit (I use a calendar to remember that, too). The doctor was quite surprised when I demand him to take back what he said and not give me PMS. He smiled! Smiled! "Why are you smiling? You are giving me PMS! Why can't you give me that new-fangled PMDD thing?" (Little did I know at the time PMDD, Pre-Menstrual Dysphoric Disorder, is actually a more severe form of PMS, and I definitely don't want that!) Smart b*stard that he was, he kindly chuckled the words out, "I'm not giving you anything. I am diagnosing your problem. You have PMS. You do not have PMDD." Damn him. Really?

That is when it hits me. I am arguing with my doctor, telling him not to give me such a stupid sounding syndrome, when all he was doing was trying to diagnose what he thought was wrong. So I try to calm down as I am still thinking, "Crap, how did I get PMS?" DNA. That is my answer. I'm passing the buck. My mom gave it to me. It is her fault. It is hereditary.

**Note to all: the medical definition of PMS is limited to a consistent pattern of emotional and physical symptoms occurring predictably during the ten days prior to the menses portion of the menstrual cycle. The symptoms of PMS are of "sufficient severity to interfere with some aspects of life." More than 200 different symptoms have been associated with PMS, but the three most prominent symptoms are irritability, tension, and dysphoria (unhappiness). Common emotional symptoms include stress, anxiety, difficulty in falling asleep, headache, fatigue, mood swings, increased emotional sensitivity, and changes in libido (strangely enough for me, even though I am really irritable and tense, my libido increases to maximum proportion...just in time to scare the men away. I am Jack's smirking revenge. I suppose it gives another meaning to the term "raging hormones"). Oh, and if women are irritable during their menses, it is because it just irritating to deal with; it isn't a syndrome, it's a hassle.

So, as it turns out, my friends and family suffer from PMS. I suffer from their reaction. I do not suffer from PMS. Sometimes I think to myself, "Why am I so frustrated and grouchy? I don't even want to be around me." That is when I check my calendar, and say, "Yep. Dr. Meany Pants, you seem to be right, even 10 years later. Damn."

On the plus side (ha ha), a good physical indication that my friends are about to suffer from my PMS is that my bra cup size increases from a C to a D within a couple of days and I have huge breasts for more than a week to make up for the irritation I cause my male friends.

Thousands of Lives

I feel like I have lived a thousand lives, and none of them are worth anything. I am always in search of myself, and I cannot locate me. It is hard to keep on swimming. Sometimes I feel like I am drowning and I pull myself up to tread water just as I am slipping away. I don't want to slip away. I need to swim to shore and I just can't find it. The answers must be out there somewhere. Some people turn to God, some turn to drugs, some turn to each other and lose themselves all over again. None of these things have worked for me, yet I am still breathing. There has to be a reason, and I am sure I will find it...I hope I will find it. There is a purpose. There has to be.

I have found that a person can't live a happy life, they can only live a life with fleeting happy moments. This was a hard lesson to learn. I was hoping that true happiness was out there somewhere. I turn to books, instead of people, for friends because there is no misunderstanding. The characters are my friends while I am inside their story. Movies allow me to forget what is outside of the theater or my room. The loneliness is overwhelming, but I can be lonely in a crowded room.

I find it kind of humorous that there are so many lonely people in this world, yet with so many of us, why should we feel lonely? I have an idea that it is because we feel misunderstood by others and ourselves. I often think of one of the stories from Free To Be You and Me. It is The No Friends Club. Someone told me a few months ago that they already had too many friends, and didn't need anymore. I don't understand that. Ever since I was little, I found it hard to maintain friendships. Mostly it was me who didn't want to be their friend. I have gotten so good at being alone that the fortress of walls I have built are seen by others, not just invisible walls I thought I was hiding. I talk and tell people so much, thinking I am letting them in, but it is a lark. I haven't let anyone in for a really long time. If I can figure out who I am and love that person, maybe others will love me too. That really isn't the important part. I just need to know if I am lovable to myself. Can I respect myself? Love myself? Be happy with myself? Will I ever be able to go an hour, day, or week without questioning myself?

I am tired of trying the wrong way. I must just step forward and go. Yoda from Star Wars said, "Do or do not, there is no try." My fear is that I will do the wrong thing yet again. So I end up doing the wrong thing. I don't just want to survive, I want to thrive and smile. Being alone isn't the problem, it is being alone with myself that seems to be hard. I work really hard at being someone, and it is hard to be someone. I am disappointed in myself at this point, and I can't imagine why anyone else wouldn't be.

"I used to be so big and strong. I used to know my right from wrong. I used to be somebody."

The Dark Road

She walked alone on the dark path toward her future. Glimpses of light on the horizon appear as mirages. Sometimes she could hear voices in the darkness calling out; voices with suggestions for her quest. Not all suggestions were directing her on the right path. Some thoughts she hears are just provoking her towards erroneous ways. Her path is a maze even though it goes on straight for miles at times. Each inch walked is a memory. Each foot traveled is an accomplishment. Accomplishments turn out to not be all that forthcoming nor fulfilling.

The years pass as she makes her way along the path. Thoughts of her own come and go. Each thought unaware of its creator. Every once in a while she remembers something profound, either from her own thoughts or the ones she has heard. She thinks that if she could just remember, put them all together, they’d fit like pieces of a puzzle that came with no picture. The ideas are clues. The journey is a mystery, and yet she walks. She yearns to run, to breathe, to feel the burning sensation in her lungs and in her legs.

Like Atlas, the weight of the world rests on her shoulders. She doesn’t know why and she feels this burden. She sometimes walks as if asleep. She is always in thought; praying to a possible god to hint at her purpose. The path is not ever straight forward. No signs, except for the occasional bodiless voice, to urge her onward.

The ground is comforting as the exhaustion overwhelms her physical and emotional body. Sometimes she is aware that the comforting ground she rests upon is crawling with insects and hard with pointy rocks. She has become used to taking comfort in the uncomfortable. Everything is uncomfortable. There has not yet been a moment that has come with ease, but she knows she must keep going on along this particular path. Even when she feels defeated something keeps moving her. It is her strength, the will to survive. It is her inner voice that sings to her the lullabies.