Inside Out

What would you look like if your exterior appearance reflected what was inside?

I would look like a burned thing, charred and blistered and fluid filled. Every hair singed away. Black scorches where my eyes used to be. Faint plumes of smoke emanating from my body and moving into the atmosphere, leaving me behind.

I would look like a ghost. A scary thing hiding in the dark that mostly haunts itself. Dragging my rattling chains, moaning in agony for all eternity. Ever hoping someone would see me and exorcise me from the land of the living where I don't belong and send me to the next world.

I would look like a child's broken plaything. A toy that no longer works. I don't get passed down or on to the next child. I get thrown away because I'm simply of no use any longer, and there are plenty of other things, better things, to make-believe with.

I would look like a flowering weed, stubborn and awkward. Struggling to survive places I never should have been, never should have grown. Places where there was not enough sun, not enough shelter, not enough love. People trample me underfoot, hack me down only for me to grow again, against my own will.

I would look like a prism. Rainbows of color flashing, warning, dazzling the beholder. A trick of light without substance. A bauble of distraction that first spins one way, then the next and never dances any other dance. I cease to be when you close your eyes, like I was never really there.

I would look like a tiresome burden that people would prefer to avoid. An old homeless woman suffering from dementia, sitting on a park bench surround by shopping bags filled with little treasures I dug from someone else's trash and have already forgotten. Small and bent and dirty. Wrinkled and frail and yellow. Confused. My fear would look like anger. 

We always talk about inner beauty but other things reside there. 

Things that are not so pretty. Not so easy to face, either in ourselves or in others.  

We hide them there and for good reason. 

Because who would love us if we didn't?

Birthday Wishes

wish- verb.  to feel or express a strong desire or hope for something that is not easily attainable; to want something that cannot or probably will not happen.

Why are we taught as children to make a wish when we blow out the candles on a birthday cake? It seems particularly cruel. To be made to believe that, for some odd reason, when we close our eyes and purse lips at our fiery pastries, extinguishing the flames that represent each year of our time on earth with the living breath of our bodies, that some sort of magic happens. That in that momentary darkness, that dimming of illumination, something that cannot be, will be. 

It's False Hope. Back on it's bullshit. I'll take Despair over that peculiar abyss any day of the week.

Today is my birthday. I'll make a cake but I don't have any candles. I don't have any wishes, either, so that's okay. Not that there isn't anything I long for. There certainly is. But no wishes. What I desire most may not be easily attainable but it is something that can happen, probably even will happen, at that. 

I want to be free. 

I want to find home.

I want to receive all the love I can and give it back to the world, like the moon gives back the sun's light, with my face made of scars and the stars all around me, shine shine shining.

Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday, dear Holly, happy birthday to me.

Ode To Mister ______

I thought about you today. You know who you are. I actually think about you most of the time. Most of the time those thoughts are unkind. Not today, though.

Today I missed you. I wanted to tell you about how they're clearing the brush away from the creek across the highway. You can see it now. It's pretty. I thought about how you used to want to go down there. Now you can. Or you could. 

But you won't. You're not here. You don't know that the bramble has been cut away. I won't tell you.

I won't tell you for the millionth time that I miss you. That I wish you still loved me. That you hadn't given up on me. That you hadn't left.

I won't tell you for the millionth time how angry I am. That I wish I had never met you. That you're an asshole. That I hate you for what you've done.

I won't tell you any of those things because you already know. You know what you've done, the hurt you've caused and the catastrophe you've left behind. You know all of that and it doesn't bother you much.

I don't know how long it will take me to move past this. Twenty years together has been most of my adult life. Now I'm living a different kind of life. I'm still adjusting.

So, for a while, I'll talk to you in my head, my heart and here. You never did read my blog. Or listen to my words. Or see my pain. You'll never know.

But maybe it will help me somehow. Help me to be able to leave you in the past, where you live now, where you belong.

I thought about you today. It won't be the last time, I'm sure. 

I miss you.

I love you.

I hate you, too, though.

Get fucked.

Wednesday's Child

They say Wednesday's child is full of woe. They also say if the shoe fits, wear it. For me, that shoe fits. I am Wednesday's child. Always have been.

I've always been lonely even when I'm not alone. Sad. Haunted by ghosts. Always yearning, desiring, needing, seeking...without. Never within. Why would I seek within? There's nothing of value there. People taught me that.

Anger came later but decided to stay. Along with it came resentment, stagnation, lies.

Disappointment has ever been my close companion. In myself, in others...in life, the universe and god.

I was not born in love but was filled with it anyway. I learned early that it hurts to love. I never learned to give up on love, though, even in my despair. 

That may seem like a good thing. To not give up on love. To keep the hope of love alive. It's not though. Not always. Not for me.

Because that hope can lie. It's easy to believe the lie. That things will change. That people will change. That things will work out in the end.

It allows you to accept things that shouldn't be accepted. Things that aren't good for you. Abuse. Neglect. Manipulation. You learn to make excuses, believe those excuses and not ever learn the reasons why.

The reasons, instead of the excuses.

Hope can make you sick and keep you sick. Hope can kill you.

Sometimes it's good to let go of hope. That's what I'm trying to do. To accept life as it really is. People as they really are. It's difficult.

I am Wednesday's child, still. I think that's just my nature. Not that there haven't been times of happiness, because there have been those times. And not that there won't be times of happiness again, because there will be. Life has taught me that.

But right now, it's hard. It's so hard to not give up but I no longer want hope. Not false hope, at least. All the hope I've ever had feels false.

I'm trying to look within. To seek there and find what I've always needed from others but never received. Trying to let my despair motivate me, propel me forward into a new, more complete understanding of myself and my life.

It's hard, though. I am still Wednesday's child, after all. 

More Than A Year

More than a year since I've written here. Feels longer. Feels odd to be back. Am I back? I don't really know. Why am I here? Because I can't sleep. Because my mind, it troubles me. Good ol' blogger. Comforts me. I guess.

Times is tough. Times is hard. I've been through worse, though, so I have. So have we all.

I want to say... (what do I want to say?)... that I love this life. Shocking, to me. Yet it's true. I do love this life, and the friends I've made. Wouldn't trade them for the world. And the experiences I've had- yes, they've made me who I am.

And I'm ok. Really. I'm ok. Not an angel but not a monster, either. No matter what anyone may think. I'm a good person.

We're going to have a better year in 2011. All of us, a better year. Abundant lives. Purpose and destiny (and dare I say it? maybe even God?) will lead us where we need to be. I believe that now.

To all my blogger friends, I love you. We may be lost, but we're not forgotten. And when there's someone there to remember us, we can always find our way home.

Attention White People!

If you are a white person who has an entirely black child or a half-black child, learn how to fix their damn hair!!!

I've been meaning to bitch about this for awhile now. This issue has always bothered me, but Matthew goes to school with some kids whose hair is suffering! Suffering, I say!! It's ridiculous. There is a woman here in town, I don't know her name but Kevin knows her. She went to Africa several years ago and came back with an African husband. They promptly adopted a bunch of kids from Africa and had one of their own as well.

Anyway, I don't care that her husband is African (he is a bicycle cop, though, which is weird) or that they adopted kids from Africa (personally, I think their are plenty of kids here in America that need adopting, too, but whatever, it's their life). I don't care that they're a bi-racial couple and family, all of that's dandy, just dandy.

But you should see these children's hair. It's horrible. The boys aren't as bad, because it's kept short, but you can tell that somebody who doesn't know how to cut a black person's hair buzzed these boys. The girl's hair is the worst. It's broken and dry and flying around all over the place. It just looks awful. Why? Why is it this way? Because they have a white mom who doesn't know shit about their hair.

If I were a parent of a black child, I would learn how to care for their hair properly. If I didn't learn how to take care of their hair then how the hell are they expected to learn? I feel this woman is doing her children a bad turn, and I feel a little sorry for them. I'm sure she's a great mom (maybe), and I'm sure they're great kids (maybe) but for Christ's sake, do something about that damn hair!

You all know what I'm talking about, right? You've seen it too, right? The white lady with the little black kid with the crazy afro or the white lady with the little black kid who you can tell they tried to straighten her hair and it just looks like crazy hay straw sticking out of an ugly headband? You've seen them, right? Right?

Please tell me it's not just me!

I'm sure it's me.

Quick Update

Things are going pretty good. Kevin's crew is almost done building their first log home. He's done well considering he's not a carpenter, and he's terrified of heights. That particular job is two hours south of here, so he's also been gone most of the summer. This will be his first week back home every night. He was camping Down By the River, and for fun he would stack rocks, of which we have some pictures of here. The stack in the first two pictures is about six feet tall.

Ivy's cuter than ever. Her hair is long enough on top to do a little ponytail. Squeeee!!! Right now she's loving books and identifying things in the pictures.

Matthew is doing Tiger Cub Scouts, and having a blast. He's also been to three birthday parties since school started a month ago. That's exciting for him since he didn't get invited anywhere last year.

And I'm ok, too.

Love y'all.