i believe...

that we all have far more than we deserve.

time to stop taking it all for granted.

Dear Life,

I love you, I do not deserve all that you have given me. Still, I will graciously accept it. I have every intention to spend the remainder of you trying to give back, to earn the rewards I already possess. Intentions mean nothing, of course. Saying and doing are so different. But maybe writing this down, publishing this to the wide open internet, maybe this will be enough to remind me (at least from time to time) that there is so much good. Cheesy. Cheesier than the cheesy bread that gave me heartburn 10 minutes ago. Whatever. Life, here is a list of the wonderful things you have given to me:

-family (jujubee included)

-lungs

-great boobs

-amazing friends

-an amazing man whom I adore

-empathy

-"some times I wouldn't trade for the world."

i could go on, but most things can be lumped into those categories.

So Life, I thank you.

Love,

Shannon

It is in finding the answer... or in knowing that there is an answer to be found? What makes you intuitive? What makes you aware? Is it recognizing the questions... is it having all of the answers? Is it neither... is it acceptance? Is it both being able to identify the questions and knowing the answers?

Radical Acceptance. What a strange concept. Radical Acceptance. Human interaction is a complicated thing. It so often gets chalked up to "drama" caused by "jealousy," and "insecurity." I feel like there is more to it than that. What is it? Is it our inability to face and cope with change? Becoming so comfortable with the way things are that when something new is thrown into the mix we all go bat-shit crazy. I don't know. You probably don't know either. So is that it then, is just acknowledging it making me wiser? Or am I really just a dumb ass because I can't find the answer.

I feel like everything is coming together at the same time it is falling apart. Maybe this is the definition of transition? I feel OK with change. Change doesn't mean you lose anything... just that you are gaining things. I am not sure I want any answers. I just want to be right here, right now and I am.

A-ha, it's a riddle!

It is what binds us together. The threads of the fabric. The fabric that is everything human.

It is that one thing that connects everything, it is the reason that things "happen for a reason."

It is the answers, all of the answers.

What is it?

Giant Explosions on Oversized TVs

That is what is happening in this room right now. Weird. A taxi just flipped upside down. I am not sure why I feel the need to comment on this, but I think the significance will find me at some point. Anyway. Work done, drive home, wild things, stealing things, I have high hopes for a good night.

Sometimes I wish I could be everything that we all know I am not. Sometimes this is enough. Ups and downs and in betweens.

Compassion. Human Connection. Empathy. How do we really get there? True equality, judgement-free. It will never matter what I have done, what they have done, what you have done, what we have done. Never. It just is.

Our "personality flaws" come from experiences, that is what I like to think. Nothing and no one is pure, not once you've left the womb. So who are any of us to judge what is "right" and "wrong" or "legal" and "illegal?" Or even better yet, who are we to define "beautiful" and "ugly?"

I have spent the past three hours watching ways the earth will eventually be destroyed on the history channel. There was a 30 minute break for some giant, man-eating, fresh water fish. Comforting.

Now I am starting to believe that Yellowstone Park is going to go up in hot, liquid, firey lava and burning goo in 2012. That is how Quetzocaotl will return. In a fit of molten glory. This is just one more reason to get that RV by June. I want to see Yellowstone before it is blown up by the inner fury of the earth.

Say what you want, but no one really knows. I read a friend's blog this morning. She wrote about death; losing another friend. Invincible we are not. I do not want to spend my days working, slaving, sulking, not seeing all there is to see... I have no idea how many days are left. For me, for you, for us all.

It is not that I am in a bad mood, and I am by no means trying to be morbid. I just really want to have the fullest "human experience." At 23 I already feel like I have one foot in the grave. Maybe it is worth arguing, but I have had mortality thrown in my face.

There is so much more out there... what am I still doing here?

Enough is enough...

Things always seem to fall together when you expect them to the least. That being said, nothing seems to be working out these days.

I have resorted to way too much chocolate, way too little protein, and way too much booze. So this is life. Meh.

I have been sulking in loneliness and self-pity, which is all-around ridiculous. The fact is that on a good day I am a babe and on a bad day, well at least my mirror stays in one piece. Things could be worse. I am constantly surrounded by beautiful people who I love and who love me. In all reality... things have been worse. So what the hell?

I think I just need a dildo. Or a heated blanket. Or both.

40 Days of Sobriety.

Julie decided she was going to go on a 40 day sobriety kick after the two of us had a bit too much fun while PJ Bond was here. So, needless to say, I have joined her. One day down. Non-alcoholic fun times are being sought out, if you have any suggestions you know where to find me.

At the bottom of a bottle of rum.

But seriously, this may be harder than I think.

It just might be time to move...

Been in a little bit of a funk this week, I suppose it happens to the best of us and I have chosen to blame PMS.

Wednesday was interesting, I may or may not have lost my cool and told off everyone in the clinic. I proceeded to make the three hour drive home in a fit of rage. It worked and they listened. Can't make everyone happy all of the time and if it takes meanness to defend yourself then so be it.

Anyway, I am hoping to be home on the 30th for good. It is very much necessary and needed at this point.

Beardfest tomorrow, put your smiles on.

I guess it has been a little while. As for me, life is good. I have been real life journal-ing, writing some random nonsensical free-form poetry, painting a lot, and have rediscovered my passion for charcoal and pastels. On top of it all I have an hour a day dedicated to meditation.

A clear mind, a stable body; brittle bones gaining strength, brain gaining power.

They set me free for 4 days and I am so very grateful. I have worked so hard over the past three weeks, I have dug so many graves. 1 day down, 4 to go. No complaints. A show last night, the lake all day. The sunburn on my shoulders reminds me of the better days. It is reminding me that the better days are back.

Where I am now is a place I never thought I'd see and I've given up on all of my giving in.

I have established a self-declaration of independence, freedom, free-will. UNITY without CONTROL. I am learning that striving for freedom is only enslaving yourself to the concept and an idealistic future that may never come. Freedom has been here all along, I just needed 23 years and extensive psychotherapy to figure that out.

Tonight, we rock hard. And tomorrow. And Sunday. Monday it is back to treatment, back to reality, back to learning. But for now I can embrace all that I have achieved and hold the ones I love closer than I ever have before. This Is Real.

Power struggle. Internal. Entirely internal.
Inherited, internal, power struggle.
I am so completely (like, oh my god) over crying all of the fucking time.

So I am taking my fists, raising them high, and breaking through every part of this shit fest that has been holding me back.

Just another small scale revolution for the little ones.

Here it is.

Things are pretty good lately. The sunshine just seems to bring better attitudes. It would seem that spring opens up a lot more than just the natural wonders, more than the natural rebirth of the world around us. In fact, we all seem to be opening ourselves up. Showing those truest of colors that have been hidden beneath months of binge drinking and hiding out. No longer wrapped in blankets, we have survived yet another winter. Unfortunately, however, some of these colors are not as beautiful as I had thought. I suppose that every color is vibrant when all you have seen is black and white for months upon months.

So what it comes down to is that true friends will have concerns without any selfish and underlying motivation. The rest of the world can just fuck itself.

Hey All!!! The few of you out there... you should really try to make it out to this show. It is going to be a great time. Clearly I spent hours on the flyer.

Doors at 7pm, Show starts at 8 sharp!

So, anyone know when things start getting better? Misery is the result of our dispositions and not our circumstances, right Martha? However, circumstantially speaking, fuck that jazz.

And so, I am taking off for a few days or more. Who knows what the next month will bring... but I feel changes coming and soon. Big changes.

For now, I think I am disconnecting myself. Phone off. Internet off. Self-exploration on.

It's about time things were worth more than the goddamn money.

The Greatness: Making it Through

Coping. Please don't take this away.

The above image is a photo of the "cafe" where I will be spending a great deal of time over the next few weeks, months, years, who knows. So alone I sat, after gathering up the last 2 ounces of courage left in me. MaryEllen, with a smile so warm and welcoming I cannot stop myself from crying, says, "Is that my little one? I am so glad to see you. I am so happy you came back." I imagine her riding her new Harley Davidson down backroads in the summertime. Still, you can see the battles she has faced. They are burned into her eyes. She gives me a hug, and with her arm around me we walk into the back room. A room filled with couches, recliners, blankets, and women of all ages. Some looking down, some talking to each other, some knitting, some reading.

The cafe is full. Not all of them will be in the group, some just come for the peace and serenity of this safe haven. Popcorn is cooking in the microwave. The coffee is on. Jodie is beautiful. Jodie has long grey hair, it is pulled back. It is shinier than any hair I've seen before. She is beautiful. She is an LMSW. She is what I want to be when I "grow up." She is fighting the battle too. Nancy reaches me the most. Nancy reminds me of my mother and she talks of her mother. Nancy laughs at herself for talking to much and apologizes to us. I wish that my mom would do this with me. I wish she were here with me, she needs this just as much as I do.

We are asked to think of a goal. I am the last to say my goal. My goal? Wasn't this my goal? What is left? I draw a blank. I tell Jodie that I have no more goals, it has been a big week. I tell her that I will make it all worth the fight, quoting my dear friends.

Slowly they file out. Lori stops me. She asks how I am. She is kind and compassionate. She is beautiful. She is fighting the battle too.

Crumbling Necropolis

Twenty minutes, the sun is out and I can hear sirens.
Lately I have been thinking a lot about brutality.
I watched a young boy with a skateboard as he was thrown into the side of a cop car.
Two pigs shoving hooves into his knee caps.
Search and Seizure.
They threw his skateboard into the street.

It was hard not to stop.
Sometimes it is hard not to scream.

Selfishly, I drove on trying to forget what I had just seen.

'Notha Day, 'Notha Dolla

I am so tired. Still, I cannot fall asleep. So I am rambling. Reflecting, maybe, is a more appropriate word.

I find myself daydreaming about nights when I felt the same, with the exception of having enough energy to walk the dark streets until dawn. Still, it is hard to get up and out. It is easy to accept that I need to be laying low for a while, but I have been doing the opposite. Professional advice ignored, lectures from loved ones thrown aside. Taking breaks is not in my nature, I feel guilty but refreshed. This day has been a welcome change. 1 out of 6 ain't bad. Not for me, at least. I am an amateur letter-downer, I'll have the art mastered soon enough.

Back to work tomorrow.

Things happen so quickly, I sometimes forget where I was headed at all. Things pile up, slowing down now is impossible but forced. So here I am, sitting. Alone. Finally bored with video games. Waiting to take some muscle relaxants and call it a night.

Watermelon.

Head under water. Toes just above the coral reef. I feel stagnant, dangling. Driving, I know where I am. I see the curves in the road. I am aware of what is happening. I feel so disconnected. Weightless, like I am floating and watching from another world. Aware that I am completely unaware. Alive but without a single sense left. Is this the average early-twenties? I try to explain to friends. They remember feeling this way once upon a time, so is said. Comforted that I have support, scared to death of losing that support. Completely independently co-dependent.

C# G.

Dear Hometown,

Dear Sister,
I have confided in you, you laughed at me.
Dear Brother,
You have listened, but never respond.
Dear Mother,
I am afraid of your criticism.
Dear Father,
I cannot speak to you.

I love you, but it is time for some change. It is time for me to stay away. I miss you everyday, but I would miss this more. So whether or not I will ever be able to tell you, I will never be moving "home." Western New York has little left for me.

Feeling whole, complete, refreshed, recharged. Feeling empty, alone, exhausted. Day in and day out I blame it on something. I blamed commercialism on Jesus at Christmas time. My co-worker told me I was the grinchiest person she knew. She laughs and tells me I am a rotten wench. I laugh too, because sometimes it is true.

I have been thinking more and more about things. An old friend's harsh words run through my mind on a daily basis. Judgmental and cruel, they were true and cut deep. But guilt is something I cannot be bothered with, and maybe that makes me selfish. We all do what we can to get by. I hope that in the coming months I can be a better friend, lover, family member. I will be a better advocate, I will stand for things. For now, I need to throw remorse to the dogs and wait it out.

It will all balance out sooner or later.

To lose your only tie to humanity is, I would imagine, like losing your good arm. I need the arm back. The new arms are just fine, I love the new arms. I still miss the old one though. Nothing can replace the old one.

This is how a coward admits they were wrong. This is how the foolish say they miss you. This is how I function. Just robotic enough to post things on the internet, text-based. A series of zeros and ones. I'll never open my mouth, never speak a word. It is all here, in ones and zeros.

What Home is to Me (In Pictures)

Amazing Fucking Friends.
Brass Monkeys.
Mudsliding.
Showering.
Together.

These Kids. All of Them.

Together.

Livin' in a van..
Out of a Car.
Together.

Could be falling..

Spring does that to song birds. It really does feel like spring. We are breaking through.

I find myself giggling, ticklish (how do you spell that word? I'll never know), smiling, a blushing young girl again.

Maybe it's temporary, but show me someone ((anyone)) who is constant these days.

Sitting back, appreciating. I sat on the tree fort my dad built over a decade ago. The wood is cracked, paint chipped. The swing still works, it creaked but it carried me just fine. I swung, remembering times when I sat there without a cigarette. When I jumped off and laid in the grass, staring at the sky for twenty minutes. What happened to being invincible? I want to be a superhero again, I want to fly off those swings, 30 feet into the air like I always believed I was.

It's time. Meet me at the playground.

Nee-ag-rah Falls

Tonight, panic attack. Brought on by too many hours in this god awful town.
I was ready to burst.
My nostalgia cup was full.

Her voice, reading from "web MD."
I started crying and got behind the wheel.
I found myself somewhere in Niagara Falls.

It's okay if you recognize home.
Smoke a half a pack of cigarettes and turn the car around.
Familiarity always comes too soon.

Ponygirl

Brittle, falling out.
Jane Roe.
Swollen, bleeding.
Benedict Arnold.
Like a house in the heart of the Nickel City.
Still standing, one more storm.
Face first, into the burning cold.

Fright.

Last night. I slept. I woke up and he was so afraid, it made me so afraid.
I met his family in the middle of the night. I laughed about it later today.

Relief in subtle victories. Maybe that is what I am writing about.

Driving angrily down busy streets in Massachusetts.
Matt changes the songs on his ipod to something that will cheer me up.

Matt and I sit in the crowded bar, drowning everyone else out.
A break or two for a car bomb... or two.
Mid-conversation a song breaks the tension.
"You don't know me, you don't even care, oh yeah,
She said you don't know me, and you don't wear my chains... oh yeah,
She said I think I'll go to Boston...
I think I'll start a new life"
And I, of course, break into tears.
As many times as the world has heard that song
I doubt it's words have ever said so much.

Now I am drunk.

Matt told Jon he looks at Upstate and remembers all of the negative. All of the loss.
He told Jon and now he tells me.
He says, "I cannot go back to New York to see Shannon in a casket."

It is always a little strange to hear your own name in a dialogue that you are one half of.
Starving for something, so I starve myself.
I have no answers. Just irrational and unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Although, it is not all bad.
I am closer to stable than I have ever been.
I see less and less reason to run, to move, to change.

I think I like where I am, who I am, and who surrounds me just fine.

This really is enough, it is just fine.

And to Oswego: I love you. You feel more like home than anything I've ever known.

Bah!

Headache. Manchester Orchestra at work. Hobo dead. I feel like a giant, a giant ready to explode (or maybe implode, I never know).

when I took the blame
we layed in ruins trying to quote your phrase
we're yelling, "someone's got the answers,
but I'd rather think there's nothing to be found"

I owe money to a lot of people. I think the bad guys are going to break down my doors any day now. They'll drag me out by my ankles; through the street and into their van. You might find a bloody fingernail stuck in the carpet. I'll try, but it won't be enough.

Congratulations, Nation. You've won this round. Congratulations New York State. Always stickin' it to the little guys. I have had enough.

I can hardly see what's in front of me these days, those days too.

Haven't you had your fill?

February 15th(s)

Sitting outside, on the railing. My 11:45 smoke break. Pasty, upstate-New York ankles shine just bright enough to blind the melting snow. A rabbit chews on a single patch of brave blades of grass; they have forced their way through cascades of white in a backyard tundra. I sat, trying to remember if I have ever had a "bad" February 15th. On the drive in this morning I thought that February 15th might be my favorite day of the year, for no reason in particular. A pessimist, by nature, I am trying to find negativity. Not today. The sun is so warm on my flushed face.

Aside from a brief lapse of sanity, I had an amazing night. Aside from waking up a little bit too early for my late-night self, I am having a fantastic day. I smiled on the drive down to Manlius. I said, "Isn't it beautiful out?" She said nothing, pouting in her usual way. I smiled. Joked. Laughed at myself for having the jitters from too much coffee, too fast. As I dropped her off, she smiled and said, "see you in an hour?" It seems so small, but if you knew the whole situation the smile would be significant to you, too.

Now, forcing memories, I remember a February 15th when I was 14 or 15. It was just like this, with less responsibility. I walked down the bike path by my parents house. I snuck into the woods and climbed over the same, old fence. Down to the creek. I sat for two hours by the melting ice. Disappearing snowmobile tracks. If I could, I would drive the 2 hours to that bike path right now. I'd sit there all day, feeling this way.

Relief.

I cannot wait to walk the break wall. I cannot wait to jump into the frigid water. I am aching to scootch my lazy ass across the narrow cliff and fly a kite. Let the defrost begin.

Hums and Whistles

The soundtrack to my night. The clock on the wall ticks, almost silently. The occasional buzz of the radiator. This house is frightening at night. I am intimidated by the 4 men sleeping in their rooms. I am afraid of the cars that drive by. I've checked the lock 50 times in an hour.

The baby monitor spews a whistle, here and there. Autism is a beautiful and frightening thing. I hear a whistle louder than the last followed by a groan. Innate, maternal instincts kick in. I run up two flights of stairs to the dark hallway. The floor creaks, I am trying to be quiet. My shoes are wet from the rain, I had to smoke that cigarette. The door squeaks. The little blue LED light is just enough to see him hunched over. Panic ensues. Creeping closer, I reach down and put one hand on his back. He breathes, heavy and louder than I have ever heard. I blame it on the silence. Relief. He is sleeping. My anxiety is at an unhealthy level.

ANXIETY.

"Please stay. Please stay by me and see me through this."
"It's not right. It's right though, for me. I've never known such a bitch."

Last night, on yet another psychotic drive down the 690, I screamed. Then I cried. Then I cried for my mom and I screamed again. Child-like. My "behaviors" are child-like. I regress because it is all I know of normalcy. I am learning the causes for that.

My earliest memory: unknown. Somewhere between age 4 and 5. I remember sexual abuse. I remember learning about rape. I remember being an introvert and my family ostracizing and teasing me for that. She was a cute, little thing. Staring out windows with big, brown eyes. So inquisitive but so quiet. Where did you go?

I imagine myself crazy.

Is it enough to come home, just a little bit late from work, to a leaking ceiling and a sad, sick best friend? I think it is. Right now it is enough. Soaking wet towels again, heavier than I am... on a really bad day. Throw them in a big machine, it will wipe the musty odor away. Wash it away. Dance across the kitchen, you vibrating and unbalanced, washing-robot.

I sometimes wonder if inanimate objects are really so inanimate. We are not made of metal or plastic. We are not wooden, so who the hell decided they knew what it was like to be a lump of coal? I think I have enslaved my washing machine robot. Poor thing.

Fried Green Beans

Are the most delicious things in the world. Seriously. I feel like my brain consists of fried green beans tonight.

Work has been crazy. Down time? What down time? We do not get lunch hours, this is not a normal job. I work 10 hour days. I have 3 smoke breaks. I manhandle (that's right, manhandle) all of the finances for the house. That consists of filing paystubs with SSI, accounting for every cent (with receipts to back it up) compiling and editing ledgers, balancing check books, balancing monthly budgets, and filling out the most annoying form in the world with all of the financial information summarized. I have to forward a million copies of a million things to a thousand different people. To top it all off, I have 2 days at the first of the month to finish everything. How about that monthly summary? Oops. It is the end of the day, it is the 2nd of the month. I have to come in to work early tomorrow. Meanwhile, I am still going about my typical day. Taking people to appointments, working on goals, cooking dinner, cleaning bathrooms, cleaning human beings, crisis intervention, staying sane, listening to 6 people talk at the same time, filling the car with gas, grocery shopping, returning library books, passing meds, checking med passes, clipping toenails, checking weights, filing worts, smoking a cigarette, showering someone, listening to someone while they cry, listening to someone else while they scream, finishing laundry, doing the dishes, taking out the trash, forgetting to eat, forgetting to smoke, forgetting to think, realizing that my back hurts, my knee hurts, and my head is about to explode.

Just another day, in case any one wondered what my work day was.

Megan just sent me a text that simply said "love you poop mouth." Laughing out loud when I am alone is one of the most satisfying experiences. Laughing out loud when I am alone and seconds away from insanity is even more satisfying.

Eat it, Governor Patterson. I do deserve more money. Stop with the budget cuts. Stop cutting my pay and my mileage reimbursement, stop taking away my holiday bonus. My voice will be heard, you son of a bee sting.

If you made it through that, you are a champ and I owe you a drink.

Save the Friendly for More Deserving Friends.

You make my eyes well up. On the brink of a breakdown. Pruned fingers from too many dishes, piled high from friends; friends I am not sure that I really know. The phone rings from the other room. I was sitting on the bathroom sink with a candle, a cigarette, and the winter wind blowing in through the window. Of course I would never hear it.

An e-card from you. From all of you. Loud, but not obnoxious. A blur of sound. Music. I listened three times. To three voicemails. Nine listens. Nine times the puffy eyes. Nine times how much I have already been missing you.

So another binge night begins...

I have to get out of here. I should take myself to a better place, a more deserving place.

Easy.

I've read about it all. I listened to bedtime stories last night. Jules read to me, it was awesome. Poems and short stories. Not necessarily uplifting, but they were alluring, and beautiful. And I slept well last night.

I am listening to friends' bands and smiling, hearing their voices. I miss them. I cry sometimes, I miss so much.

I'm switching the song to a voice I won't recognize. It is just easier.

I wish I could post privately. I don't know how. It is just easier to type here than to write in my little, locked journal. No one will read anyway. Deleted links. Google me, you imbecile. Bet you won't find anything quite like the pitches I'm throwing.

Here are the tragic, unedited, drunken ramblings of a young girl.


Give me a fucking break. Some idiot asshole at work tonight told me all about his daily work out schedule. And all about Jesus. Yeah, whatever. You have abs. You have an understanding. I really don't care.

Look at my fucking ribs. That's hot. I don't know whether or not Jesus actually existed. And you can't prove whether he did or not, so I don't care.

I wanted to scream. Damnit. I have to change songs again. I can't hear familiar voices.

The cat just ran across the keyboard. He is laying on me now. My hands are numb. But he is beautiful, and he knows. He gets it. He just needs to be here, laying across my forearms in silence.

Some things inspire me.

There is an amazing woman who was a mother to me, though never biologically. Her daughter said, "She believes in you more than she believes in me. She told me before I left that she has always seen a passion in you. If you could harness that, you could and you will change the world."

I will never change the world. I will never harness that raw passion. But I will fight. And I will scream. I kick and I cry, I wake up in the dead of night. I'll destroy you, I'll tear out your insides. But I will always love you. I will destroy you, but I will love you.

Maybe someone will learn to love me and my crazy. A friend to stay. Never leave.

Fairy tale endings weren't made for skeptics like me. I'll just eat you away.

This is so long, this is so rambling.

These are things that I need to get out.

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. Please stay. Don't leave. But I hate you.

blah. Punk Rock shows, coming up. Let's laugh and sing and dance. Come to the shows. If you're reading. Come to the shows.

Drink some brewdoggs (love you), sing-a-long. Wrap your arm around me and belt it out. It's what we have to do. What we HAVE to do to get by.

www.oswegoshows.cjb.net

Enough.

I live through the words of others. I thrive underneath the actions of others. I fear everything. Standing alone is not for me.

I felt legitimately angry; knowing why and accurately directing my anger. It was the first time in years. It felt incredible, I will never be able to describe that feeling.

I am so tired of the nightmares. I am so tired of waking you up, night after night. I am sorry for the eyeliner smeared on your pillows.

I feel so much more these days. I turned the heat off in my car, the sun was shining. It was warm on my face. I missed you, vitamin D. I saw a rainbow this afternoon.

Every word in this song has been dead on. So I listen to it on repeat. Over and over again.
Rilo Kiley
"The Good That Won't Come Out"

I do this thing where i think i'm real sick
But i won't go to the doctor to find out about it
'Cause they make you stand real still in a real small place
As they chart up your insides and put them on display
They'd see all of it, all of me, all of it

All of the good that won't come out of me
And all the stupid lies i hide behind
It's such a big mistake, lying here in your warm embrace
...I think i'll go out and embarrass myself by getting drunk and falling down in the street
You say i choose sadness, that it never once has chosen me
Maybe you're right


I never make much sense.

Letters,

As fate would have it...

my entire post was just erased.

No big deal.

I was just rambling about how angry I am.

Writing letters to no one, anyone, someone, myself, you.

Done.

There is No Light Without Darkness...

Let's Not Forget...

Dreaming big, there is something to be said for that. I have been lost in a whirlwind; lately I feel more like a Hurricane than a human being.

Megan came to visit. We spent most of our time together crying and consoling. First her, then me, then me again and again, then her. Then her again, and it all ended in one of the most intense "freak outs" I have ever had. I smoked too many cigarettes, I took too many shots. I punched the refrigerator as hard as my drunken fist could. I screamed at the top of my lungs. Anyone else would have institutionalized me but she walked over, quietly. She walked up to the the refrigerator and grabbed a picture, she ripped it off of the door and threw it to the floor. "I can't do it anymore. I can't do this anymore." She pulled another picture off of the refrigerator. In a rage, I tore every thing down. I fell to the floor sobbing. A mess of family photos, friends' drawings, fliers, and home-made magnets were lying all around me. Megan, crying with me and for us both, sat next to me. "It's O.K. to let go."

Sometimes it is O.K. to forget, to destroy, to collapse.

And to a friend, who might not understand and probably will never read this...
Start small. It all starts small. Everything will grow. No one starts out big. Time is essential.

NYSACRA and Silly, Little Me

I look at myself and see a 22 year-old without a clue. This silly girl who dances too much and still draws on her arms with sharpies. I am so much more. Am I so much more?

I work for a wonderful (although I am irritated at a recent agency-wide paycut) Human Services Agency. With over 500 employees, I expected to fall in between the cracks. I am at the bottom of the food chain right now, a young, unexperienced college grad with little to no concrete plans for the future. I work overtime, I work at 3 separate locations, I work and I work. I am just another "DSP." Just another "residence counselor." Just another "caregiver."

Back in April I was invited to attend a NYSACRA conference held at a fancy hotel in downtown Syracuse. I ate lunch from fine china, I had 4 forks (they were all silver.) Who, me? But I lived in a van, but I have doven into dumpsters to find food, but I have resorted to washing my hair in the lake and brushing my teeth in public restrooms. Silver? Too much, too soon! I am just one of 500 employees. I was 1 of 5 chosen to attend. I had only worked for 4 months, not even long enough to have earned vacation time.

The Vice President of our Agency contacted my supervisor. She asked if I would submit a personal profile about the work I do, who I am, and the hardships that I face on a day-to-day basis. My profile (with a photo, yikes!) will be published in the Legislative Gazette. The information I give will be presented to New York State Legislators and Governor Paterson (my worst enemy.)

This is incredible. At 22 I will have the opportunity to respresent an entire profession in front of the Governor of New York State?!

It's funny, we never realize all that we are accomplishing as it is happening. Maybe I really can succeed? Maybe just being myself is enough.

The Free Candy

Blogging? Why not? I have, after all, been writing a lot recently.

Here we go...


There was a time, an amazing and influential time. I lived in a studio apartment with a friend, a life-saving friend. There were long, hard, bitterly cold days. It was the year Oswego was hit with 11 feet of snow in less than 48 hours. That February was the most intense February I have lived through. Blizzards and power outages. Broken spirits united with a strong bond and a sincere, untainted desire to lift each other to our feet.




And as the ice melted away, we laughed at the collage of senseless memories we had created throughout those bitter months. We cried the day we moved out of that tiny apartment. We moved into a van. A giant, red van. Maybe you have heard of it? Maybe you've even taken a ride in it. The Free Candy. Curtains in the windows, mood lighting, seats that folded into a bed. Ahhh, yes. The Free Candy. We parked The Free Candy in abandoned parking lots. We tried to live in a storage garage, but there was no vacancy. We slept on the floor of the restaurant where we worked once, maybe twice. We took any opportunity that came our way, we slept on any couch that was offered. We lived.


I learned more in those short months than I ever had. Maybe more than I ever will.