1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3

I sit down at the piano and start writing a somber little waltz... and ten minutes later an hour and a half have gone by. How does this happen?

On Being the Big Spoon

I had a good friend stay with me last night. After kissing my eyebrow goodnight, she curled herself up under my chin and fell asleep breathing onto my collar bone.
Just having that warmth, the feeling of a body inhaling and exhaling on the pillow next to mine... God, I miss that intimacy. I miss the knowledge that there will be someone there when I wake up in the morning.

She and I talked earlier this afternoon about pets. I thought briefly about getting a dog, some little furry thing to wrestle with and care for and take with me on my walks. It would be nice to have a doggy roommate. I never thought I'd ever be this lonely; I was always the social butterfly, never without a friend or partner nearby. It's strange. Much of the time it isn't so bad; I enjoy the quiet to read, or watch movies, or take a bath. I stop at the mall on my way home from school to sit near the ice rink a couple days out of the week, and I watch people interact. I visit people every now and then or have them visit me.

But I still feel as though I've been scooped out, somehow. Like I made a few too many hasty decisions and they left me hollowed... it's the same sensation you get after a shot or two of tequila.

I'm distracted. Foggy.

It was nice to hold someone.

The Best Thing Since Sliced Bread

Me: You know, though, I'm actually having the first good day I've had in a while. Besides the weekend, seeing all of you.
Cassie: Well, because you have some clore.
Me: "closure?" Yes.
Cassie: Oh yeah--
Me: I have some Clore!
Cassie: Sometimes I type too fast for the keyboard.
Me: Good old Clore.
Cassie: Hahahahaha! Clore is good for the soul!
Me: Delicious, nutritious, chocolate-covered Clore!
Cassie: It's like "folklore" without the "folk."
Me: Great for cleaning the bathtub and brushing your cat. And snuggling with at night.
Cassie: And decapitations!
Me: And foreign policy! Not to mention keeping your fridge smelling fresh--
Cassie: Clore IS McCain's vp.
Me: But that's okay, 'cause Clore will feed the homeless and provide free healthcare for all. AND polish your doorknobs to a high mirror shine!
Cassie: Tee hee! You should see the stains I had on my teeth before Clore.
Me: It's a whitener, too? Wow, Clore sure is the best thing a gal could have. Super absorption Clore with wings.
Cassie: Sure is. Throw away all your old [lovers]. We now have Clore!
Me: Word! Clore: It's What's for Dinner.
Clore, for a Better Tomorrow!
Cassie: Ooooooo- and a Better Yesterday!

One Good Assertive Rant Later...

Unexpected peace today. Had a long phone conversation last night that allowed me to express a lot of frustration and anger I've had pent up. Although the result was very little sleep and more than one nightmare jolting me awake, I was surprisingly calm eating my breakfast. Surprisingly cheerful during my walk to school. Surprisingly giddy leading a friend in tango during break. Surprisingly focused during my business class, surprisingly filled with sudden bursts of creativity regarding future marketing ideas. My coffee on the walk home was surprisingly tasty. The little kids ice-skating in the mall were surprisingly talented.

And, though very hurt and sad and more than a little confused, I am surprisingly okay.

I hope it lasts... beyond, you know, today. 'Cause that'd be helpful.

Strikethrough

They say scribbling is unprofessional,
that a single line, blue
or black ink to obliterate
an unfitting word or phrase shows
to the trained eye
your unwillingness to hide. Problem
is you can still see that thought,
struck-through as if shot, bleeding,
crying out a right to be known,
stapled to the paper.
It feels like you fit. Long fingers
braided like honey rope in mine, sweetly
stale breath, the rumble and hiss
through each nostril, the cool tang
of cucumber hair. To slice through this-- blue
or black ink, professional, the traditional
description of bruised-- how will I hide
you now? Reading forward you are still
there: no scribbling, your thought,
the thought of you, fixed always
under a single line, blue
or black ink, bleeding through the blotter.

And We'll All Float on Okay

Trying desperately to distract myself, I went home to Bellevue on Friday for a visit. Spent the whole weekend with people I love --beautiful, silly, wonderfully genuine people-- talking about personal growth. And what better way to work through emotionally trying circumstances than to have people not be afraid to remind you how human you are?

Recently I came to the realization that I'm terrified of letting people see me fail-- I create any kind of facade possible to keep those I respect thinking that I am flawless. Of course, it doesn't work; the people I respect are highly intelligent and naturally intuitive, and that's why I respect them in the first place. Everyone knows my mistakes. Despite my frantic efforts to cover them up, I do tend to wear my emotions splattered all over my face, clothes, and the surrounding room... so it's finally occurred to me that there's no real point in hiding anymore.

The funny part is that I'm figuring out that people actually seem to love me more for airing my errors. I am respected more for having messed up a few times than I am for keeping them quiet. And, honestly, when I think about it, I also trust and think more highly of people who have stumbled a lot and kept going than I do of people who seem to have it all together.

So I'm trying my best to simply be honest with people, let them see my whole naked self, blemishes and all. It's difficult for those with whom I've already trained myself to censor my actions, but those loved ones who are fairly new in my life have the benefit of knowing me from the start of this process, and I'm so excited to discover the quality of friendships I'll develop.

I've made an appointment with my first-ever therapist for midway through next week. It'll be interesting to see how I react... from what I've gathered, the idea is to have a facilitated conversation with yourself, about yourself. I'm nervous. I "converse" with myself often, but I'm starting to think that I turn a blind eye to a lot of my own negative behavior, just because I'm not sure how to deal with it.

I sincerely hope I someday manage to fix the relationships in my life that have been poorly handled, that I create and maintain new and cohesive ones, and that I have the courage to let the ones that aren't worth my time go.

On Hurt

The problem with pain is that we choke ourselves on it.

It is not enough to simply feel the pain, accept it, and move on; no, we have to gorge it with reminders, stuff as many memories and associations and whatnot into its mouth until it's ready to burst. A big, slobbering behemoth of pain, crouching in our chests.

And we stroke it, too-- every self-deprecating thought we let slip past the rationality barriers in our brains is just another caress to Pain's thorny hide. What's the point? We know it doesn't help, and yet we can't stop. It's like sex, or drugs, or popping bubble-wrap. Popping the bubble-wrap makes it useless for packaging, does it not? You know this. But do you ever really want to stop once you start? Of course not! It's delicious destruction.

I keep telling myself to propel forward, keep kicking, hold my breath. But it's hard when all you want to do is sink... let that beast in your ribcage pull you to the bottom and just sleep there for the next hundred years.

Obviously, I am unbelievably frustrated right now. I wish I could just get angry. Seems like it would be a heck of a lot easier to be angry than to be understanding.

I'm in Way Too Deep.

All I need is a little time,
To get behind this sun and cast my weight;
All I need is a peace of this mind--
Then I can celebrate.

All in all there's something to give,
All in all there's something to do,
All in all there's something to live,
With you ...

All I need is a little sign,
To get behind this sun and cast this weight of mine;
All I need is the place to find,
And there I'll celebrate.

All in all there's something to give,
All in all there's something to do,
All in all there's something to live,
With you ...

-- Air, "All I Need"
from Moon Safari, 1998

The Anticipation is Killing Me...

... dear God, PLEASE just let it rain. It wants to so badly, and doesn't seem to be able to, and everything is holding its breath as a result.

We're all turning blue in this space.

It's Become my Mantra:

"Sometimes not knowing what you want, Sarah, is enough to go on."

Worth Fainting Over:

Man oh man oh man...

I just had the best dinner.

Olive oil-poached Alaskan halibut with crushed potatoes, green beans, lemon vinaigrette and roasted garlic... and lavender ice cream for dessert, with Stumptown coffee.

I could die happy right now.

Don't Worry... You Will Someday

I saw someone I've missed today. She had news --good news, for herself-- that filled my heart up; it felt like eating bread after days of chewing dust. And suddenly I realized that all this sadness that's welled in my chest the past few years is of no real consequence when compared to the enormity of the world, of my life. There's still so much life coming up.

When I was little I wanted a magic mirror that would show me as an adult; yet now that I'm in the beginning of adulthood I still feel like I'm little. I get the feeling this isn't going to change.

There will come a point at which all these puzzle pieces I've collected will become painfully obvious, and I'll be able to slide them right into place without hesitation. Instead of constantly waiting for that day to come, staring at the phone, at the door, at the city... I'll just continue collecting puzzle pieces.

It's the best I can do, right?

It made me think, as things often do, of a quote. Something Kevin Spacey's character says at the end of American Beauty:

"...And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and it flows through me like rain. And I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life. You have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm sure. But don't worry... you will someday."

There will be Motion

For now, we stay still.
In two or three months
the farms will shut down
and every silo will be
empty, waiting for us.
He moves with me
for comfort, sleeps inside
the crease of my arm and
moans when he dreams,
dreaming moaning
when he moves with me,
sleeps inside. I cannot
wake up. I cannot wake
up. Every silo is empty,
the rotting farms sigh and send
up clouds of hay dust, gold,
gold against the green.
Stay still for now, stay
still so I can wake up.

On Matters of Romance

Yeah, I really don't know anymore. I just don't know. I can dispense all the good advice I want, and follow some of it myself, but really... I'm not sure how people handle falling in love so well. I end up feeling alone, somehow.

I have to keep reminding myself of that Bjork song:

You’ll be given love
You’ll be taken care of
You’ll be given love
You have to trust it
Maybe not from the sources
You’ve poured yours into
Maybe not from the directions
You are staring at
Twist your head around
It’s all around you
All is full of love
All around you
(All is full of love)
You just ain’t receiving
(All is full of love)
Your phone is off the hook
(All is full of love)
Your doors are all shut
(All is full of love)
In any language
All is full of love

A Conversation Regarding my Career:

Chris: You're gonna look like Popeye soon you know. You might as well get an anchor tattoo on your forearms now, before they balloon up.
Me: OH. Yeah. Seriously: I gotta watch them, take super good care of 'em.
Chris: And your fingers & joints-- I'm concerned about those. Rub butt smart! So you can do it for a lonnnnng time.
Me: That's my slogan. Sarah Silliman: Rub Butt Smart
Chris: Good girl.
Me: When I run for mayor.
Chris: Mayor of Butt Rubbing.

Regarding the Laying on of Hands

I feel the need to share an experience.

A licensed massage therapist is often referred to as a "soft tissue specialist." We manually manipulate muscle and adipose tissue to stimulate blood and lymph flow in the body. It's rewarding and very physical work. I am often lifting, shaking and stretching limbs, jamming my elbow into shoulders, butts or legs, or scrubbing scar tissue like a dirty bathroom floor. My clients get off the table looking stoned. Good stuff.

However, a day like yesterday, in which I saw ten patients at the clinic (amounting to about five straight hours of all of the above), leaves me exhausted. By dinnertime, I could barely stand up straight. My forearms were killing me, my brain was completely finished with processing any sort of logic. Everything ached. I thought, "Geeze, I'm planning on making this my career? How the hell am I going to build up the chops to do this amount of work all the time?"

Today in one of my classes we decided to do some polarity work. Messing with the body's energy. Life force. Qi. Prana. Charge. Whatever you call it, I've never really put much faith into it, so I wasn't all that interested. I partnered up with my buddy Jen, who obviously wasn't feeling good... she was pale and slumped over, with no shine to her eyes or hair. Said she felt sick. Asked if it was okay if I just worked on her, so she could lay down a bit and zone out. I said that was fine.

Energy stuff involves, like, ZERO pushing or prodding or lifting. It's great for people with conditions involving the circulatory system, because you aren't moving blood around at all... in fact, much of the time you're barely touching your client. I put my hands on Jen simply with the intention to help her relax; touching her forehead, gently rocking her hips, holding her feet.

So here's the woo-woo-shaking-a-chicken-bone-and-hopping-on-one-leg stuff:

The minute I got my hands close to her and slowed my breathing down I could feel her. I could feel the hot and cold spots on her body, the tingle of her energy, or qi, or whatever-- it was all concentrated in certain spots, and missing from others. I could sense it pulsing into my fingertips, mingling with my own, swirling around and over my hands. It felt gunky, muddled in areas --like right over her abdomen-- so I just brushed it away, pushed on it, smoothed it out. I can't quite explain what this felt like to me-- I was soaring, far away in my own body and yet deeply rooted inside hers. Everything else surrounding us disappeared. It was incredibly intimate.

About halfway through, I suddenly felt awful. My whole body hurt. My head was pounding, my stomach started gurgling violently. I was overwhelmed with sleepiness. I mentally ran through my sleep patterns the night before, what'd I'd eaten for breakfast, whether or not I'd taken my vitamins or had enough water. Everything looked normal. My brain started to panic: what's wrong with me? And a split second later, I knew: This isn't mine. It's hers. This is all coming from her.

When I finished, and sat Jen up, she looked amazing. She was glowing-- there was all this color in her cheeks. She said, "I feel fantastic. Your hands... my stomach doesn't hurt a bit anymore." And she gave me the warmest, most loving hug I've ever gotten from her. Thanked me over and over. Practically skipped out of the room.

I went to my teacher, still buzzing with the duality of the filmy sickness clinging to my insides and the intense HIGH I felt from connecting so deeply with someone's body, and questioned him as to why I picked up all of Jen's gunk. He smiled (obviously he had planned this) and told me, "You haven't learned how to ground yourself yet. You let yourself float off too quickly; you need to remind yourself frequently of where your hands end and her body begins. But you can't do that too much, or you won't be able to have the healing effect you're going for in the first place. I didn't tell you to do it because I wanted you to experience what it's like."

Cheeky bastard. Got me hooked.