little bros, poppo's, and albo's

I am an older sister to two little boys. Ayden is 3 and a half. Amari is sixteen months. I watched them last night as my stepmom took my dad to the hospital. Amari was asleep by the time I got there, so was Ayden; but he would be waking up soon. I was worried about my dad; but it is also a hard thing to get upset when you create such a wall of denial. My dad has been this stable rock for my entire life; good or bad I could go to him. Last night he was sick; and I think he was probably a little worried. My dad doesn't "do" sick. It does not fit into his schedule. It was one of the very few times I could consider my dad vulnerable. However, that thought was quickly fleeting. It was my dad; he is tough,he's going to be fine. It is so strange to grow up and not realize you are really growing up. I mean as children, we all have this responsibility to care for our parents when they need us. I just find it crazy that I am already at that age, where the idea is not as preposterous as it once appeared.

"Hi manda panda," Ayden interrupted my thoughts with his sleepy drawl. He had my heart and he knew it. I gave him a big hug.
"How bout some dinner please, manda panda?" Melting as he spoke I squeezed him a bit harder and started making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
"Where is mama?" he asked. Kids are smart and intuitive; much more than anyone gives them credit for. I told him that Dada was sick and that his mom took him to the doctors. It was apparent that was all the information he needed since he turned immediately back to his sandwich. We played for a little bit. Ayden played the guitar for me. We watched the Wiggles. It was past 9:30 at this point, way past Ayden's bedtime. I tucked him into his big boy bed, and shut off the light. The fan was on slow, causing a comfortable caress of air. I put the gate up so he could not run out of his room.

I turned on the television and queued up the TiVo record. Amari's cries are heard through the monitor and I think he will fall back asleep. He doesn't. I get up and go into his room only to find Ayden standing right next to Amari's bed saying, "get up amari? get up?" I tell ayden to leave amaris room. I hold Amari and calm him down. He falls asleep in seconds. Ayden apparently knows how to climb the babygate. We play this game on and off all night.

Pam (my stepmom) gets home shortly after 11pm. We talk for a little bit about my dad and how he is doing. We figured that they would probably admit him at this point. We all try and get some sleep. I wake up this morning to find out Alistar, the dog I brought out here when I came to go to college, is taking a turn for the worse. He was diagnosed with cancer a couple weeks ago. He has these tumors on his body that are exploding. He is marking the white carpet and tile floors with blood spots. The stains don't bother anyone; the bleeding does. I pet and hug the big albo. He is such an amazing dog. I hate death and dying. I am tired of its hovering over so many things that I love only to take them away quickly and silently.

I pick my dad up from the hospital. He calls me his pride and joy; I am beaming. I am glad I did not see him in a hospital gown. I think that may have been too hard. It is hard enough seeing the plastic bracelets around his wrist. The nurses congregate to say goodbye. He always has driven the women crazy. I am glad he is okay but I am sad that the spell of the insurmountable father is gone. Pam, my dad and I sat around back at the house hugging and loving Albo. I sit now hoping that wasn't the last time that I would ever see him. I am heartbroken. It seems a lifetime ago that we were together; my dad, albo and I. Almost 8 years ago. My dad is now remarried with children. I am still here and Alistar is becoming a shadow of himself. Time keeps its continuum. We all hold on to those thoughts of innocence, and purity, hope and renewal. We all just hold on.

a compromise

The reality has not settled; I am winning. We are winning. I think it may have taken 6 years to be the healthiest thus far. Or more accurately I am the healthiest I have been in 6 years. These are not coincidences. I sit right now in control of my life. I came to the table and we came to a compromise without the compromise being either one of us. I am excited about being responsible for myself first and learning what I like. How fun to believe and trust in one's self. Bear with me folks, I have lived my life as if I were a second class citizen. I am no more. Frodo, my pug, is pushing his dinnerstained muzzle into the back of my neck. It is time for me to have my dinner. I am really at ease, and happy with the outcome of tonight. Thank you!

writing as a snapshot

I have been thinking...a lot. My thoughts range from self, to others, through windy roads of memories. I think about actions, both taken and passed over. I think about writing and why I write. My mind flickers at this thought. Right now it seems more important than ever to answer this question. I write to search for meaning in my thoughts. While being a thinker of thoughts :) there are a lot of things to sort through; it seems writing is the perfect filter. If I get bored writing about it then it's probably a waste of my time to be the least bit concerned about it. So here I am; trying to figure out what is important. I think I have got the basics. It is important for me to believe in myself and my actions, trust myself, and listen to the sometimes hidden messages that can be uncovered only through writing. It is important for me to write, everyday. Whether or not, this is to improve my craft; whether or not I write here or in my journal, I must continue to write. I find my truth in my own words. I believe me when I write. So I ask again, Why do I write? I write to understand and to be understood. I write so I can photograph my temporary reality. My feelings are fleeting and always changing, as are my situations. I learn from the temporary hopelessness as well as the temporary hopefulness; either way I continue to learn. I am whole when I am writing.

accidental shortcuts

I cried for you this morning. I cannot tell if they were tears of disappointment, frustration, shame, or loneliness. I suspect they were a little bit of everything. I miss you. I thought we could really do this. I found my passion and you lost yours, the cruel reality of irony. We walk forward; not together, or side by side, we walk on.

I dream of you every night. You love me, you leave me, you hate me, you kiss me. I wake up in the morning confused and tormented and so much in love. I am sad. There is no other way around it. I keep thinking of going back and changing things; if I could, but would that have made any difference? Somehow I think I just found an accidental shortcut. I would have traveled the road with you.

I do not even know if I can call it a break up. I don't know what to say other than I lost you. And I hate to lose. But I need to be loved; passionately, deeply, unconditionally. I feel that your love for me has waned in all of those areas. Watching you sort your love for me was one of the most painful things I have witnessed. I want you but it can't be at the cost of me. You knew that before I did. You always know.

I want to hold on; but I can't convince you to take part in something you are not sure you want to do. I can't afford the unknowing. I came to you asking, but we both know there was more demanding. I hid it behind my tear stained cheeks, and my many apologies. I disguised my demands, but they were met with devastating consequences.

This is so hard for me to write, I question every word as if you will read it. You may, you may deliberately not. I am asking you to believe in passion, and love, and that undying sense of longing that at one time or another you had for me. Can you bring that back? Would you want to?

Maybe later I will talk about me. I just miss you and can at least focus some of my energy here instead of bombarding you with partially thought out emails.

Back to life

a blog of imperfection

I am getting older; my priorities are shifting. I would prefer to come home and write for hours instead of hitting the local bar. The once intimidating white screen provides a challenge. A challenge that I am up to. I like this letting go of perfection. I have become comfortable with this "non-perfection" experiment. I think I am actually doing everything better. I am taking more risks. I am making my life more livable to me. I am going to be proud of my life. All of this because I let go of people's expectations of me, and chose to focus on my own expectations. I never realized just how influenced I was by everyone and anyone's opinion (stated or assumed). I assure you that it was not a healthy influence. It was like hearing my negative self-talk in stereo. I set myself up to fall. What changed?

I am tired...of convincing people I am okay. You see, I played the victim for so long and sometimes old behaviors creep in and I will grasp for the comfort of self-inflicted misery. Though I am standing on my own now. I am a survivor. I will thrive. It is my turn to believe in something. Right now I choose to believe in the power of me. I robbed myself of the strength that was inherently mine; again I set myself up to fail. I am giving it back; I will stand up for what I believe in. I am accepting responsibility for my success and my mistakes. I choose to stand here and face my life. I have stopped running. I am tired of being sick.

I have arrived

Not my bad luck

I write with you in my mind. You sit quietly perched atop 6 years of memories. My memories, our memories, your hearthache and mine; my memory doesnt lie. I think of today and you are far away playing games, and celebrating the end of bachelorhood for a good friend. I am here writing of you and wishing for me to be just a little bit more myself. I stand by the idea that I am much better alone, I operate well when it is just me. I have a hard time with relationships, not just ours. I have put my girls in some pretty hard places as well.

As you sit and gaze upon these memories that have shaped me, shifted me, broken and rebuilt me; I ask to be understood. I will fight for what I want. I will be strong when I should know better. I should not have entered in when you were not ready. I focused so much time trying to make you ready that I lost my way. I still fought and strained, just for all of the wrong things. I should have fought for us in the longrun not in the shortrun. I understand now. Do you?

The mirror in Heathers bathroom just fell off the wall. I called my mom to make sure that the bad luck is not mine. Since i was not in the room nor was I responsible for it, the bad luck is not mine, she says. I hang up the phone, I am still nervous.

How to paint...

I have been painting for about 8 months. I don't paint landscapes, nor do I paint seascapes. Abstract paint baffles me, as well. I prefer to paint people...into corners. Here is your guide to paint like a pro in just 20 steps.

1. Come to an understanding that you have decided that there is one person you want to spend the rest of your life with.
2. Know this person; it would be preferable if you had a history with this person that was maybe a little tumultuous.
3. Really, really know that this is it and you are willing to sacrifice anything to make it work
4. Now call up this person, and reintroduce yourself into said persons life.
5. Make sure they are either going through a breakup, just went through a breakup, or are debating a breakup
6. Really be there for them, listen to their heartache (there will be some, they couldn't always love you)
7. Rally yourself for the kicker
8. Simply say, " I am ready"
9. At this point hopefully they exclaim in elatedness "oh thank god!"
9a. If they do jump for joy then you should simply stick to drawing; also please reference #2. Did you fib about the "tumultuous" factor? yep, i thought so
Okay for the rest of the Matisse's out there, keep up. On to the new number 9.
9. "umm, ready for what?" let the brushstrokes begin. Soft and slow, remember be gentle with the brush...
10. You tell them exactly how you feel and how you have never been understood by anyone like this person understood you.
11. As we move into the more intense feelings i suggest choosing your colors wisely; fall in love, believe in it, live in it, and begin to have expectations, though said person needs to take some time due to #2 and #5
12. Disregard their requests, and use a bigger paintbrush to make wider strokes.
13. Believe the love that you feel really has to be the same thing opposed person is feeling, they are obviously lying to themselves.
14. Start paying attention to the details; constantly give this person your power, how else can you show how serious you are. Do you want them to be disappointed in any decision you make? Simply choose not to decide.
15. Take a step back from your painting, do you notice what's missing? Blame the other, again, said person. Remember you gave them all of the power. You are powerless.
16. Seek refuge in person's arms. Again we go back to the painting with small, but intense strokes.
17. Ask for opinion regarding painting; after all, you are painting this picture for them, you want to make sure they like it.
18. If they hesitate for even half a second, offer to paint something, anything else. You never want to disappoint.
19. Continue these steps until you become invisible and referenced person can no longer do anything because he/she is standing in a corner with wet paint all around.
20. Regard your work with great clarity

*About the author*
Amanda, who has come off her most recent work, claims her painting has proven to be life changing. She recommends you put down the paintbrushes and skip to #20. What did you paint? Did it destroy you or other; or both? Remove your blinders and start to listen to that actual needs of your partner. If you are lucky enough to have a person that you have survived #2 & #5 with and can smile and love each other, find a way to talk and to cherish. Amanda lives in Scottsdale, AZ with her pug and her regret for having ever picked up a paintbrush.

Sentences of no relation

I have a bloody nose. I ate a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch. My inhaler tastes like the fresh smell of cement. I can't focus. I have a papertowel hanging out of my nose. I like the sound of Shawn Colvins voice. The hippopotamus no longer squeeks. I have an Easter basket that i cant look at. I dreamt that I went crazy last night. I get a new car this week. I was a lot more excited last week. I am much more challenged this week. My little brother gave me a tattoo. I wore a tee shirt yesterday that used to belong to my grandfather. I miss my grandfather. Lindsay Lohan really does have a sexy voice. Apparently you cannot focus either if you are keepig up with my randomness. My eyes are tired, my body is lonely, my head wants to cry. I am writing right now, and i have been writing in my journal multiple times a day, I am in training. I am abandoning my search for perfection. I am allowing myself to work at an average level. Nothing special. I am doing this so I can just get back to writing. I am teaching myself how I write. I am learning to be specific. I am learning;always learning.

I asked questions today and stood up for myself not in defense but in offense. I will win my life.

Yes, the tissue is still hanging out of my nose.

picking up the crumbles

First is shock. Things freeze, the world falls away; I can't breathe.

The next thing I know my phone is ringing, my alarm is going off; shit, my taxes are due. It is my friend's birthday and her gift is on my dresser; must remember to call her and sing "happy birthday". Life walks on. As much as I want to hold on to my mistakes; i have to let them go. They are no longer my burden to bear. They are simply a part of my past. I am questioning everything about me, no longer settling for the unknown, the "I don't knows". I am better than that. I owe myself an explanation. If I cannot give him the answers I better damn well be able to give myself the answers.

So I write, and I write about today, because the possibility of tomorrow hurts. But today was good. I did it. I got the job done. I went to work, I laughed, and I didn't die of shame or embarassment. I didn't even choke on my regrets. Instead, I focused on why I am ashamed, embarassed, and find myself in so many situations I end up regretting. I foresee much focusing in my future.

And in case you were wondering, I did get my taxes in. Even before midnight.

heart out of service

I cannot write my heart. This is new for me. It is broken, my heart; not my writing. I am not supposed to be thinking about my heart. I am supposed to be doing a fearless moral inventory. How can fearless be in my vocabulary when everything right now is so frightening. I am so frighteningly alone. And I did this. I am alone because i thought my love for someone else would save me. Instead in a night(or many nights and days) it was destroyed. At what point did it become so hard to accept myself, to love myself, to offer myself forgiveness? Why is there so much self-hatred and so much self destruction in all that I do? Why do I always find myself asking these questions? I dont care to ask questions any longer. I want the change. I want to believe in myself. What would that be like? I want to know, and I want to know it from experience. But right now I am crumbling.

Loss and Gain

I whispered a goodbye to my grandfather on a Wednesday after he had already passed. I screamed for a dear friend to give me her life back on a Tuesday. Thursday morning I called my Mum Mum; Grandad told me I missed her, she left in her sleep. I have heard death comes in waves of threes and sevens. I ache for the truth to lie in trines.

I have thought about death my entire life; my death, the cessation of my being. I could never consider the loss of my family. I never had to. August 3rd, 2005; that was the first time I was faced with this surreal pain. With my grandfather's passing, I felt loss, my own loss, yet there was a sense of renewel. I would miss him but he led a strong life and let go on his own terms. His dying on a Wednesday surprised me, he always said, "some Tuesday". I wanted to believe he was referencing his own death; foreseeing that one unknown. But it turns out that was the day my friend Kate would take her own life, 14 Tuesdays later. I can and have said goodbye to HB, but it is Kate's absence that brings a terrible ache and the complete inability to feel anything but her absolute absence.

Kate and I met in the JFK airport on our way to China. She told me that her inner magic 8 ball said our soulmate status was "decidedly so". How does one argue with that logic? I never did. Kate saved my life in China; and I couldn't save her. We both made choices, we both had the chance to choose. I chose my existence on my terms, she chose to live on in memories. I think she felt safer there. Can I blame her for her choice? No, not at all; but I miss my friend.

My grandmother passed away March 2nd. I sat on my floor and cried. I pitied myself. I want to say I was strong and I took it with grace. But I didn't. I cried for my losses, and the way they affected me. I cried for the way that all of these deaths hurt me. I cried because I did not know how to comfort myself and I didn't know anybody who I could go through the depths of my feelings with. The tide of emotions could have drowned me on their own. Though at some point I realized that it was not me who died. I kept living. I keep living.

These losses echo loudly everyday for me. It is true there is sadness in my life, but it is equally true that I have never appreciated my life like I do today and will tomorrow. I still cry, but I laugh now with smiling eyes. I suffered as everyone around me has. I realized in moments to victimize myself that death is the one pain every human being will encounter. In my effort to distinguish myself through my pain, I had to love myself for my humanness. I am not so different.

Though I feel a loss that I will carry with me for the rest of my life, I came to understand a truth that may have saved my spirit. I will never be alone. As a person I seek a community, truth be told that is why I am here. Hello, my name is Amanda and I am human. Welcome to my blog!