If you’re going to do something horrible at all, you’re better off doing it as thoroughly and expeditiously as possible; also if you’re over stressed and over busy all the time it’s easier not to think — and deal with it by not dealing with it. I’ve been really good at working through my problems like this and trying to change over the last few months. And wearing melancholy over the last month like a noose around my neck tightening with each passing day.

There aren’t too many themes in my life significant enough to hang on hold for. Over the last several months I’ve managed to not come to any conclusions. Let’s face it, that would be dangerous. So when I find one, I have to work it to death. Some fixate on the details of their jobs as astrophysicists or social workers specializing in autistic children or drug rehab, or maybe they just read the newspapers or have a life, and therefore people have a range of expertise to draw on, and somewhere to put pegs in and provide triangulation points about human consciousness and the future of the planet. Not me. Let’s leave that to Stephen Hawking. Okay, I can tell you more than you want to know about reality TV and shoes. But if I’m going to make a decision and resist dialing a rescue I lace up my running shoes and head out the door. I have precious little to say about that other than ‘well, er, um, actually I have nothing to say about that other than what I’ve already said. I must perforce talk about my life, which is where my end of the story-telling process comes from. I have split seconds that mean more than my whole days. It’s who I am. Random and unabashedly unfiltered, I have days where I’m a train wreck that’s impossible to not watch unfold. All you can do is stare and cringe recognizing yourself. My idea of housework is to sweep the room with my eyes and dial a maid. I toss things around my home the way some throw out the trash. I could care less. It’s just stuff. If I ruin it, I’ll buy another one when I feel like it.

One of the most schizophrenic aspects of my non-balance is that I see people and how they live thinking, ‘Oops. Better get out the Hoover and the dust cloth after all.’ But this is me, who has spent most of my adult professional life through talking to people to earn my salary. Which is also to say that I have had an active hand in pulling my own life to pieces. Since I’m now managing my issues in a new light, there are no conclusions. It’s a never ending learning rite with no base line. Never assume. Never make plans. Keep doing the press-ups and deep knee bends: you’ll need all your strength and flexibility when your life suddenly implodes. Maybe it won’t — some people do lead enchanted lives — but odds are that it already is.

Now, if I could only find my phone.

I’m about to tell you all the wrong things and leave a lot to your imagination. Sorry about that. I’ve had every intention of writing about Alison but I can’t wrap my mind around how to explain meeting someone you feel you’ve known. She detailed the evening beautifully. It’s like returning home to a place or an idea you’ve never been before. Yet feeling the safety and warmth of a home cooked meal all around you.

When I walked in the door Thursday evening she was standing at the bar ordering champagne. I knew right then, in that moment, somewhere we’ve met before. It wasn’t a physical meeting or a bumping into her in the grocery store encounter. Someplace I knew we’ve met.

Three hours into the evening I realized the obvious. We’ve met in our hearts and through words typed to a Microsoft document. She’s intrigued me with her guidance, perseverance, and stamina to muster on after loss.

Our conversation was fast as the hours drove through the evening. We filled the air commandeering the room with our bond discussing how a man becomes a hero. It just happens. Sometimes, you meet someone and know they are a hero in their own special way.

When I was younger the first snowfall of the year had always elicited a wild, limb-flailing dance to the God of Ongoing Blizzards. My performance was a heartfelt spiritual plea for continued school-closing weather throughout the winter months. My goal was to dance hard enough to please the deity into granting my wish and creating a winter vacation to match the summer one. I’d dance the miracle into fashion and parade up and down the hallway. Twirling in a one two step with a round off and diving into a split. . Though my dream was never fully realized there was a week with no school due to the blizzard of 86.

Today, I don’t feel like doing the snow dance and I do want to be anywhere but in the confines of my office. The starched walls are bearing down on me as I think back to what just happened and how I landed where I am. On my ass. Though I can’t ignore the rush of pure joy that the sight of pure unfiltered snow evokes in me. At the onset of a dreary morning that’s quickly filled with specks of pure white innocence falling from the sky I’m elated and filled with a euphoric feeling. A week later, the snowy innocence is replaced with a dark and dreary grump of a day. The snow loses its muster and turns to slush reeking of filth and disgust making a mess out of everything.

I’m feeling like a big messy pile of slush this morning after shoveling the snow.

I played the night’s events in my head over and over. In retrospect it felt like I’ve been puked on. I really don’t want to be the sort of woman who gets shrewish and possessive or clingy or needy. Am I overreacting? I’m not sure. I can mess with my own head better than anyone. And I’m feeling exhausted by all the second guessing.

Because sometimes, that’s all there is. You take a chance and can’t question it. Kendra told me this morning, “If you send a message out you’re looking to get one back.”

Sometimes.

“You have to get this album. You’re going to love it. I’ll burn you a copy if you’re to slow to react but I’ll never mail it because I won’t make it to the post office. So go buy it now.”

I’ve told my Father this more than once. When he bought the Fiona Apple CD he responded with a whame. I scored when he bought the James Blunt and Fall Out Boy CD. If something delights me I want to share it with those in my life with no regard to if its music, books, jokes, stories, I don’t discriminate.

Blogs – Look to the left, I’m toasting champagne with one of my absolute favorite writers this evening, Alison and down right giddy to finally meet her.

Emails from a friend where I inquired about a date he went on last night had me reaching for a tissue and rereading the email to a coworker. He is also from this school of down right blatant honesty. And for that I love these guys.

The good: We had a great conversation, she is smart, we have much in common, alcoholic like me, likes country music, has a great family, has good friends, funny, didn’t have sex w. me on the first date, said thank you twice for dinner, likes to run, you would like her, she would like you, actually interested in what I do, also works in the BLANK sector, has a cute dog, I didn’t get slapped, pretty eyes, did I say very smart ?, wants to see me again…

Conclusion: I’m a vein asshole and should take the next flight to Belgium and become a monk…I’m hopeless !!

If anyone was at Memorial Park between 8:00pm and 9:30 and saw a red head taking five steps then nearly tripping herself from laughter it was not due to schizophrenia. I downloaded Mitch Hedburg’s last live comedy tour. The jokes below probably aren’t as funny in the written word but in that Hedburgian dry sarcastic tone…..

My hotel doesn’t have a 13th floor for superstition. But come on people you’re on the 14th floor you know what floor you’re really on.
“What room you stayin in? “
“1401”
“No your not. Jump out the window and you will die earlier.”

I saw this wino, he was eating grapes. I was like, ‘Dude you have to wait.’

They say the recipe for Sprite is lemon and lime. Well I tried to make it at home. There’s more to it than that.

I order a club sandwich all the time and I’m not even a member; I don’t know how I get away with it.
“I like my sandwiches with three pieces of bread.”
“Well so do I. Let’s form a club.”
“Let me ask you a question, how do you feel about frilly tooth picks? “
“I’m for em’.”
“Well, let’s spread the word.”

If you find yourself lost in the woods, fuck it build a house. Well I was lost but now I live here. I have severely improved my predicament.

I got a king sized bed. I don’t know any kings but if one came over I guess he would be comfortable. Oh you’re a king you say, well you won’t believe what I have in store for you. It is to your exact specifications. I did not know you guys were all the same size. I think I can set your lady up too. When I was a boy I laid in my twin sized bed and wondered where my brother was.

I don’t have a microwave oven but I do have a clock that occasionally cooks shit.

I want to get a job naming kitchen appliances. Refrigerator, toaster, blender; you just say what the thing does and add ER. Kitchen Appliance Naming Institute.
“What does this thing do?”
“It keeps things fresh. “
“Well that’s a fresher. I’m goin on break.”

If you want to talk to me after the show; I’d be f’n surprised.

Before we get started I can already feel myself withdrawing and holding on to self restraint.

I’ve been going back and forth trying to decide if I should post the story I planned. The one where I spill my guts and write what’s really on my mind. I’ve opted to stand behind the shield of my laptop instead. It’s been a while since there’s been anything confessional here outside of a strange addiction to hummus and the inability to go more than three days without talking to my sisters and sister-in-law.

The past several weeks have been relatively the same. My feet swing over the side of the bed reluctantly hitting the floor and sluggishly agree to take on the day. My motivating factor is knowing I will have the opportunity to go for a run and try to work it out of my head. Like most logical American Women when it comes to my weight I am mentally unstable. I obsess over the smallest digit and factor in an extra three minutes on the tread mill while I reach for a piece of cinnamon hard candy. Under stress, evening runs and work outs at the gym have nothing to do with fitting into my jeans – that’s the easy part. Understanding the complexity of a decision and attempting to work it out while my body is in motion keeps me motivated through the day.

Everything has taken an extraordinary amount of effort to motion through. Returning phone calls to the point where I hit send and hang up after the first ring, answering emails, writing, talking to coworkers is pointless and has been boiled down to aloof remarks with sarcastic overtones. Even talking to Ronda is brief and narrowed down to the bare facts.

Last night I arrived home, looked at the phone, answered a text message and sent a few. I hung up on a friend before he called back reminding me crank calling doesn’t work when you have caller ID.

In the office just now a coworker stood in my doorway motionless staring at me before I cocked my head in his direction. We stared at one another in a Mexican standoff fashion before he said,

“Are you okay? I’m here to help you but you have to ask. If there’s anything I can do. We’ve all noticed what your doing around here. Keep doing what your doing.”

By that, does he mean I should keep surfing the web?

Sometimes you just have to throw yourself to the sharks and see what happens and laugh at your coworker as he announces, “I’m in love with a stripper.”

By mornings end, I will be wishing for a minor earthquake to strike and distract today’s events. My days often consist of juggling the truly meaningful and sublimely absurd. The combination keeps me on my toes exasperated and proud of the days accomplishment.

However, if any other person in my life demonstrated the hot and cold distant manner a coworker has displayed with me, I would have cut them loose long ago. But the high standards, volatile moods and mildly abusive reprimands aren’t worth a furrow in your brow.

I have to keep telling myself that I am not being used as some sort of test case measuring patience and the ability to bite your own tongue.

I had voluntarily closed my eyes in the middle of my spiel as though I didn’t want to watch it unfold. If I only heard the words and blanked out their faces the punch wouldn’t hurt as much. I opened my eyes and saw his skin had turned a deep shade of purple and his foot was tapping the maroon carpet in rapid fire motion.

Oooh I should have kept my eyes closed.

“What the hell do you mean Grasshopper?”

That was agonizing, but necessary.

There’s a song in The Sound Of Music with the verse

For here you are, standing there, loving me
Whether or not you should
So somewhere in my youth or childhood
I must have done something good

Nothing comes from nothing
Nothing ever could
So somewhere in my youth or childhood
I must have done something good

I’m settling into comfort this evening understanding I must have done something good along the way to have those in my life I do. The weekend began with nothing less involving everything more in excess.

Saturday morning The New Edition and I were exchanging text messages when he sent:

“If you don’t call me back I’m going naked”

The mission for the day was planned. Work out and assist him in finding the perfect outfit for Kristina’s Birthday Blow Out Bunny Style Party. Little did I realize we would hit up every sex shop in Houston. I told him it was probably bad that I knew where they were located. He told me it was hot.

The last stop of the day was The Galleria. The moment we entered the area we felt the bass of the crowd hunka down and walk with a swagger. The city’ had magicly been transformed into a Ghettofabulous Wonderland. It was like Fat Albert’s Bizarre. Only, you know, post stomach stapling and more bling. One by one tricked out cars with vertical doors, dubs, spinners and candy coated paint jobs slewed past us. Reclining my seat to fit in he pulled into a parking spot. We had given up on tacky making our way into Dillards when the inevitable occurred. The phat man who loved cake strolled past us,

“Aw shit man, Yo. Yo. I forgot my flask.”

The New Edition turned to me with raised slightly bushy eyebrows unable to say anything.

What was?

That?

Hours later inch by inch my hands tugged on material pulling stockings the length of my leg peppering my thighs with feathers and fish net. My right leg on the bathroom counter while the left balanced my core. I flipped my head over tangled in a wand of red tendrils and caught an eyeful. Hmm. This must be how the other Jessica lives. Indeed, I had porn hair.

Saturday night had been a show of the X rated type. I abandoned the fun pulling my disappearing act after exhaustion fell upon tired eyes. Sunday Funday Brunch began with a celebration of Kim’s 29th. She was late, I was late, he was late, everyone was running late.

Kim needed that day to let go and abandon rationale. I needed that night to just be.

Raising my eyes to meet his for the first of several that day I wondered if my voice intended a long vacation. He smiled at me placing a hand on the small of my back and pulled me close. I reminded myself to breathe.

I’ve been messing with him all night and sending text messages asking

“Are you ready yet?”

“Who’s the girl in this friendship?”

He was less than amused after I didn’t hear him knock on the door and entered my apartment only to find me dancing around with wet hair listening to Common.

Batting my eyelashes won’t work on him. That’d be like flirting with your brother. A really hot brother and that kind of stuff only happens in the tabloids or rural Texas.

I’ve poured The New Edition a stiff drink while Jo practices her ninja kitty skills. We’re now waiting on Soleil and the San Fran crew that have flown in for the lingerie party and brunch this weekend.

Ooh la la. Now that shit’s going to be off the hook.

Maybe he’s right. The things we invent are the images that make us move. Willing ourselves not to imagine what we believe to be dangerous won’t work. A fundamental element of imagination is that it cannot be controlled for long. Censorship grows out of a belief that it can be. This is why censorship fails and why I’m having trouble writing tonight.

I’m tired, upset, confused, hurt, perplexed, and every other count of feeling distraught the world throws at you. There’s no watching t.v., no listening to music, no sending emails, no answering the phone (texting works much better), no reading, and I certainly don’t feel like writing.

I’m in the confines of the danger zone and feeling the weight of a decision like a loaf of bread settling in my stomach. I reach for the phone and settle back down hitting ignore once again. There’s no talking through it tonight, there’s no anything tonight.

Sometimes I’m void.

I’m exhausted and tired wishing the knot of a decision was a slip I could lube between substance and material against naked skin.

If only.

Sometimes that’s all there is. And I’m okay with that.

***********************************************
If you want to know the strength of what it takes to move from small to owning it and making the world your diamond, all you have to do is look at her. She always brings it ’cause, “That’s how we roll.”

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KRISTINA!

Her outside beauty doesn’t do her inner justice.

Thanks to our wonderful host last night Kym. The night as predicted was full of laughter, drinks, and stories - more to come as soon as this headache subsides. Who wants to write when the pictures tell a story?