February is on the horizon and will begin at the stroke of midnight. Winter has not been much of a cold threat. It brought the usual bouts of sniffles and tired feelings brought on by short days. Although, I can’t shake the feeling that I am entering a month I can’t trust. It’s unreliable like Houston weather. Sunday was for tank tops paired with flip flops. Tomorrow is for long sleeves and ear muffs. February’s life ping pongs between Sunday and tomorrow revealing disarray and bipolar ways.

I feel particularly vulnerable after having been burned so badly by January when I’d fought my way out of a dark haze, dusted myself off, and snapped back into the depths of routine monotony. Even when I was cheerful inside color seemed dimmer to me than I knew in the back of my head it should be. Will February be as challenging?

My solace is February has slightly fewer days to torture me. I’m distracting myself with work and trading my novels for books about negotiation, business tactics, and leadership exchange. Monday afternoon I was sitting numbly at my desk trying to lose myself in many tasks while pretending I was completely fine. Although I’m capable of keeping up with the hectic work pace, I’ve been fighting my way through the days. My melodrama is a reaction to anxiety, stress, and uncertainty I’ve been living and breathing the last few weeks, probably more like months. My partying has cut down and work outs increased but I can’t shake this feeling of toxin saturation. I’ve been perpetually exhausted and unable to sleep well. There has been too much to worry about, to much to get done, too much entirely out of my control. Around three in the afternoon The Big Man etched a feeling in me of being called into the principal’s office for passing notes during study hall. He wanted to share a moment with me while the Consultant was in his office.

FUCK FUCK FUCITY FUCK

***DO NOT TALK ABOUT WORK ON YOUR BLOG ********

It was good, very good. In an extreme way of jumping off a cliff and hoping you can fly.

Welcome February. Play nice. Okay.

When your best friend lives 35 miles away it’s common practice for her to mention missing the comfort of your couch and sleepovers. Some things I’ll never out grow. Not in a one night stand way but, the permanence of friendship called the rule when we met. Some days, it’s like having a twin or looking the better version of you in the eyes. She and I went rock climbing this past weekend. Ronda scaled the wall like a spider weaves a web. I lost my grip, told myself to not look down and hung suspended 20 feet above ground as Ronda pulled the slack out of the rope. Looking down at her with sore shoulders, pulsing legs, and a heart stemming through the top of my rib cage she yelled,

“This is a good trust exercise.”

We have matching scrapped knees from the vertical challenge. After the past weekend of endless laughs, smiles, manicures, hair braiding and pillow fights she sends me this poem she wrote to one who deserved the dose. The gal is pretty grand.

do you hate me because I actually think?
do you hate me for my charm?
do you hate that I have sex appeal
with the innocence to cause no harm?

do you hate my education?
or the fact that I can achieve?
do you hate my inner confidence?
or the vulnerability I wear on my sleeve?

do you hate my awareness?
do you hate the fact that you’re not me?
do you hate the fact that I am real,
and your life is make believe?

do you hate the fact that I have lived
a life beyond my years?
do you hate the fact you’ve never loved
even close to something real?

do you envy his blue eyes
and the way they look at me?
do you despise the way we laugh together,
though I’ve known him less a year and you now for some three?

or is it all a reflection
of who you want to be?
or is this a reflection
of something you cannot be?

do you hate the way I will survive
even though the pain is great?
do you hate the way I can look you in the eye
and totally disagree?

do you hate it, my long curly hair?
is it a brunette you’d rather be?
or do you hate the curve of my hips,
the fullness of my breasts and the moisture of my lips?

or is it just that you know your fake?
a habit you don’t know how to break?
or maybe you don’t have a clue
and believe something that’s far from true?

do you hate who you see in the mirror?
or do you even know to look?
do you really think you do not judge
the cover and not the book?

do you hate the fact you’ve lost control
of something you thought you had?
do you hate the fact you’ve been cut out?
well dear, isn’t that too bad?

and were you really foolish enough
to believe it was control you had?
or worse, do you really believe
that control doesn’t reek from your past?

do you really think that you’re that one
that changed the way he thought?
do you really think that you’re the one
that sprinkled the dust to untie his knots?

are you really that foolish to believe
that true to yourself is what you are?
are you really that foolish to believe
that a friend is who you are?

or do you hate the fact
that you’re always found out?
that it might take some time,
but your true colors come out without a doubt?

do you need to believe the worst?
are our lives a mess in short?
is it really your business?
if you think so, then how distorted are YOUR thoughts…

do you like making up excuses
as to why you’re where you are?
do you like the fact that you’re with a man
that your dependent on by far?

why is it all about you?
no wait, you’ll say it’s not.
but laughter rises in me
to watch you say it’s not?

for you’re only good to those
that can help you get what you want.
of course you’ll be their friend
if they can get you to the top.

you have no clue on your own,
so that’s why you need others…
you look great sometimes up front
but you have little to read when one opens the book and looks beyond the cover…

would you hate the fact I’m writing this
or find pleasure in your poison?
do you feel sorry for my life?
or despise the fact that my life is a choice?

does it scare you to know you might not survive
if you were truly on your own?
will you come crawling back,
when that time for you does come?

are you afraid of the rude awakening
that one day you’ll undoubtedly face?
if you’re not then you’re a fool;
for you’re knees will get bruised when you fall down in this race.

do you think you might despise
that you know I will survive?
do you hate that I will continue to fight
and my life I will not compromise?

do you hate that I know love,
as pure and real and true?
do you hate that he loves me
in a way that few will ever know and do?

are you afraid that we, he and I, might win
this fight we all call life?
are you afraid that you might fall
and then have to look us in the eye?

do you think you might apologize
for those things that you have done?
the things you’ve said and now have spread
about two lives you cannot touch?

trust me dear when I tell you this,
we all get what we deserve…
isn’t that what you have said
for those of us on this earth?

so don’t hate me because I’m pretty.
don’t hate my smile within.
don’t love my vulnerability,
and how dare you judge my sin!

so do you think you hate me
or just pity me within?
honey, I’d prefer you hate me
for your pity makes me sick…

do you envy me because I feel every experience,
and will until I die?
do you envy me because this blue eyed guy
believes in me and my life?

do you envy our love?
for if I were you, I would too.
for we will have a beautiful life,
and fools we’d be to sacrifice.

so did you really think you could poison us
with your thoughts and letters and lies?
did it make you feel good to write about my flaws?
alcohol, debt, my past open falls??

but you foolish child, don’t you see…
I have nothing to hide…
what you see is what you get…
and with that I take pride…

so don’t hate me because I’m witty,
or have the ability to charm the sorts.
hate me because I will not lose,
and I will not fall short.

hate me because I am a woman
that can survive life’s show…
hate me because I am grand-
I am grand, and this he knows…

*** in response to Plantations’s comment

Either way - it was the best eat shit and stay out of my life letter i’ve read.

It may only be exercise. But the kneepads, elbow pads, and helmet are fun to wear. They make me feel adventurous and ready to take on the objects in the rear view mirror while I stare into the windshield, of course.

This morning my body was sore as I drug myself out of bed, not a sensation I enjoy. I turned the knob of the shower head waiting as the water pressure went from hot to cold I started thinking about the email I woke to and immediately forwarded to my sister-in-law.

“I hope you’re not working to hard. Just remember no matter how hard you’re working your cat is at home sleeping on the furniture your hard work has paid for….. I’ll pick you up Sunday at noon that way we’ll have plenty of time to paint our chests before the 2:30 tip off.”

Speaking of Jo I figured she was hungry, that or her persistent meowing was the best audition for American Idol to date. Walking into the kitchen the caffeine my mouth guzzled moments before had not made its way to my left arm. It dug into the edge of the marble counter top. Numbness vibrated while my mouth released four letter words cursing nerve endings. Couldn’t I have been one of those born without nerve endings and could I develop this condition? After a brief internal debate I decided this condition was too much of a concept for me to begin training for this early in the morning.

I tried to erase the whole email from my mind. After all, the last time I took a chance ended in disappointment of someone not being who they boasted they are.

This is where Soleil calls and puts me on BLOG PATROL

As I dried my hair and put on my makeup for the days worth I realized I was exorcising my demons of previous serious relationships. There haven’t been that many. Only two, okay three serious ones that left a branding of lessons learned and healed scar tissue.

This is where my siblings are grateful those relations ended short of coal never turning into diamonds

So am I. Though I don’t regret any of them being over, there are still plenty of issues to obsess about. As well as many cringe worthy moments.

I’ve decided the past, no matter how unchangeably brutal, is just that. In the past and the one thing I truly own. I was young and so far removed from that former self. It was a prologue to the reality of a dreamlike relationship I will embark on. Sooner rather than later. I am tougher and wiser because of my mistakes and obviously I will never repeat them.

Ahem.

Maybe it’s a stroke of good luck or truth of a good old accurate fortune cookie but, I’m a different person in other ways – more confident, secure, sexier, and settled. Not objectively per se but relative to when I was 25, 26, 27, and early 28.

I recovered from my morning mind bender and took stock of recent accomplishments.

* Eschewed self-control and diplomacy for knee jerk reactions

Check

*Alienated friend identified as enemy

Check

*Corporate key alley acknowledged

Check

*Future plans with friends

Check

* Resort to ambush and juvenile name calling in lieu of reasoned mature conversation.

Ah, check.

This is where I begin to question the neccessity of helmets

Hanging up the phone, I wrongfully cut him off. It’s the nature I’ve spent years nurturing. I own it.

He was about to use a euphemism that would send me running for the hills. To much. Too Soon.

I hold the earphones up to my senses and twirl my fingers round and round the chord. I think of winds and guitars echoing over a warm summer sky as I dance, fresh, clean in the evening dusk. A free indulgence.

I’m curled up in a big plush chair and enjoying the presence of solitude. I don’t fit in here. My IPOD is muffing my ears to the sound of outside existence. I feel more beautiful here, more alive. I feel so, less alone. I could do this, like it was my second fulltime job. Sit in a coffee shop of the non commercial kind that is. There’s a man in the corner with rimmed glasses writing in a chocolate leather bound journal. His phone rings every third sip. Silently he talks, hangs up, and mumbles something about brainstorming. The woman to my left is sitting behind a mound of medical books. She’s lost in study and talking to herself. The man behind me is dressed in day attire. I’m resisting the urge to loosen his tie for him. The couple in the corner is discussing the film that plunges one into a world demonstrating quantum uncertainty. I know this film. It’s boring and captivating processing the neurological process and perpetual shifts.

My eyes are stinging while I eavesdrop on conversations questioning how crushed together we sit and so far removed.

I calm down rolling steamed milk over the roof of my mouth, listen to the sounds of Ana Nalick, up the volume and escape back to the story I am going to sell. Tomorrow. It’s hot in here. I take off my top shirt in a Herbal Essence way. Inside: sunshine, track lighting, sweet smells, bright colors. Outside: Cheap food disguised as healthy, sex sells shops, Paris design stores, and church. It’s Middle America out there. It’s me.

Life-giving instead of life-draining. They all look that way to me, too.

She’s one of those bloggers who tends to be inside of my head. She writes sentences and phrases my mind thinks but fails to form. Cautiously, she steps through the rose bushes of life avoiding the pinch of a thorn and seeing the beauty around her. As a reader, I’m right there with her sharing delight, reveling in the magic of moments, and deeply feeling pain.

Today, she shook me. Again. In a good way; reminding me to enjoy the small specks of time. It’s those instances when one can learn more in five minutes than in a semester of grad school.

Thanks Alison.

Rock. Reel. Breathe.

Paul Simon says there are fifty way to leave your lover. There are at least fifty ways to leave a dull party, the office, a bad date, sporting event, and a state of mind. What about temporary? How does one admit they really have moved from fad to classic?

There are many ways to state closure. So long, farewell, good riddance, goodbye, adios, adieu, later, till then. “Farewell” holds a wish for the other person to travel on under favorable conditions and wishes for them to stay clear of danger. “Adieu” literally means “To God” as if the person saying goodbye leaves the other one in God’s care. “Goodbye,” with “good” meaning pleasure and “buy” meaning purchase, so buy yourself something nice. Fine. I’m fibbing on the last one.

Exits and partings are often the subjects of novels, poems, plays, and songs because we are constantly faced with how to leave one stage for the next. How do we leave another or transition from girl to woman?

Usually this occurs alone. The lucky ones experience transition with friends. Walking through the door of Adulthood and beating down the proverbial Disney fairy tales together we learn there are no endings or exit strategies. Change is inevitable. I’ll never admit to standing still or moving backwards.

I’ve missed people before they were gone and cried in the shower while he slept on the couch before he left.

I was scared and pushed him away, then we failed.

I once missed a friend while she sat across the table as we clinked glasses. It would never be the same, maybe it was jealousy, rage, or no friend at all – yet I missed her and said goodbye.

Today was freeing in a way. Shared moments are never going to mean the same, the discrepancy can be huge. I’ve always known I assign more meaning to my relationships then I should – once you’re in my heart, I can’t let go or be mad. I love and loved you for a reason, friend or foe.

Sometimes saying goodbye occurs like a car veering off a cliff. One is left wondering what just happened and how will I ever get along with out their guidance? It was a crash, boom, bang, and moment of dizzy that leaves you looking for the rewind button. It’s like not being able to find a piece of jewelry you wear every day or waking up and realizing the tattoo on your ankle you’ve known since college has disappeared. The vices you’ve invested in and lock boxes where secrets are stored will remain locked in their present location. Fine.

I’ve often wondered what life would be like had I been born to another family, I come up short with nothing, it’s not possible. I can’t imagine what life would be like if certain people weren’t in my life. Ronda and I have never fought. Isn’t that weird? My best friends from high school and I have a ten minute tiff before we say goodbye. Dr. Phil would say it’s because we love one another and are frustrated because we can’t always be there. Fine.

Saturday afternoon Ronda text messaged: “U really don’t know how much it meant 2 have you there last night. To Never Ending.”

“I always will, however I can. To Never Ending.”

To her, them, and you I say farewell, adieu, and till tomorrow never ending.

All my love.

Remember when I missed the short preview and felt like a wretched friend? In a little under four hours we’ll sit down to watch the movie premier of Read On. She’ll more than likely grab my hand during the credits and tie her legs together in nervous anticipation. I’ll whisper a joke in her ear, a dirty one, to ease the tension and order champagne.

If that doesn’t work to calm her nerves, a shot of bourbon always hurt and hopefully it will indeed, help.

The film “Read On” is about three things: finding love, losing love and corporate disillusionment. It features an amazing original rock ‘n roll soundtrack by brilliant singer/songwriter Christopher Wilson, as well as a score by Ian Varley of Drop Trio. Additional score by Mike Naus/Vertigo Blue.

I’m a proud best friend and can’t help boasting - sorry about that.

There’s nothing subtle about the flight from Dallas to Houston. I sat with my book folded in two across my lap and thankful for the exhausted business man too tired to make conversation. The plane rose from 500 ft. to 10,000 ft. in a span of three minutes. It’s that feeling you get when climbing the crest of a roller coaster waiting, anticipating the decent, and suddenly you’re VERTICAL in the sky. The plane enters the county I know and explore. Another city. I’m alone. The span of the city spread comes into clear view reminiscent of a Lite Brite toy. Rows and endless rows of city streets, highways, shopping centers, homes, and automobiles flickering against the dark sky. I turn my head looking back towards the sunset reminded of the evening my brother in law proposed to my sister in Las Colinas. So young and so ideal they were. They are still, so real. Always striving and never wanting to stand still or move backwards.

That’s how it is my friends.

***************************************
Hopefully you heard the Mayor of New Orleans comments on MLK Day. I give you this.

It was one of those getting to know you situations. The engineers and I were talking round in circles. Them speaking Star Trek and I speaking Mortal. Round and round we went as they tried to explain the necessity of a design. The words they chose were not common and had me running to indexes of books for clarification. Our ever so clever CEO, Mr. Man, walked by over hearing the obscurity.

“Ah. It’s time for brain camp.”

Brain camp?

He gave a short speech on the merits of communication break down. The engineers did not know how they could illustrate the cross word grid pattern they verbally painted for me and I had run out of alternate ways to ask the questions I needed answered. Mr. Man wanted us to play a game. He took out a pad and paper and handed it to the engineer. He then showed me a photo of a sailboat.

Without facing the engineer and using only shapes and directions like up and down or right and left I had to get him to draw the sailboat. We had five minutes. My directions were something that looked like a potted fern with antennas.

He then went into further detail of how what we say is often misunderstood. The description he was supplying me was nothing I knew and nothing I have studied. I needed layman’s terms. He needed technical terms.

Exhaling and walking to the white board we drew our design answering all questions.

As I sit here staring at the computer screen drowning out the Late Show’s opening credits my thoughts move to how many times I have misunderstood and had the same done to me. We perceive another’s ability to understand our thoughts in hopes the experience and description are clear. There’s no peeking behind the curtain of perception. Our description is drawn upon our own experiences and tiny bubbles we thrive in. We put it out there as clearly and powerfully as we can and then we have to let it go.

Luckily, we all have imaginations.

“The worst tragedy for a poet is to be admired through being misunderstood.”
Jean Cocteau

I slowed down for a walk break when she grabbed my arm pulling me along with her as she said,

Come on, let’s go. It’s not that simple. You can’t walk. The worst is behind us.

Breathe I told myself as I shuffled along the route.

You have a good pace.
This is comfortable, it’s good.
Honey, it’s nothing about comfort. It’s about strength and character.

Mile ten my right knee began to hurt. It’s an all too familiar pain. Pounding the pavement in repetitive fashion my knee was being hit with a hammer. Over and over again. My IT band was tight causing my knee to buckle, (* IT Band runs from your hip, down your quad, to your inner knee) this injury put me out of commission while I was training for the Marine Core Marathon two years ago). I was trying to run through the pain, ignore it, and hope it would go away.

Let’s run the rest together. I’m Jessica

Of course she is.

So am I.

We both laughed.

We finished with shaking legs and smiling at one another.

It wasn’t my best time, and won’t be my worst. But I did work through the pain.

Indeed.