everybody knows the war is over, everybody knows the good guys lost

So. School sucks. I hate it a lot right now. Mostly I hate that my near-perfect scores in my classes are being transformed into kind of shitty ones due to my absence. I am ultimately ok with it as long as it doesn't fuck up my financial aid.

But it still sucks a big fat cock, you know? I worked so fucking hard to keep my grades up, and now, they've all gone to crap. I think the worst part about it is that I've returned somewhat to the same headspace I was in the first time I went to college, and I was working oh-so-hard to avoid that. It's not exactly the same because art school is an entirely different animal, but it's similar. And it's one of those time-warp trigger things where I suddenly feel I am 20-years-old again, and that's lame because I was really fucked up 5 years ago.

The good thing about all of this is I have developed lots of coping skills since 5 years ago, so I'll be able to suck it up, get all this stupid work done, and take my less-than-perfect grade. It's the only thing I can do. I'll just deal, like I do, and it'll be over, and I'll be glad of it. At least I got my panicking and crying out of the way yesterday.

don't know what i gave them for, all those little lessons

I used to be in love with someone. But it couldn't work because he is a man and we are both gay. And we were both so fucked up at the time. Hopelessly immature, like any normal 19-year-old. We lived together for four years. Parts of it were wonderful. Most of it was. We got along. We had fun. We watched bad movies. We played house. We went for drives in the pretty, rich part of town. We went on dates. Platonic ones, at least. We were soul mates. We wanted to be together forever. We were going to buy a giant house and live together with our respective spouses. And dogs, probably.

We were compatible. Too compatible. We became enmeshed and it was bad for both of us. We were both depressed. We both had issues. Lots of them. It just got to be too much. I'm not going to rehash everything. That's unnecessary. I couldn't do it anymore. I had to come back to Tulsa. I was utterly, utterly heartbroken. (Heartbreak is such a vague concept. I use it only for lack of a better term. Devastated works, too, I suppose.) I have only been truly heartbroken by three* people in my life. One is my father. One is my sister. And one is Jacob.

I still love Jacob. I am so happy that he is doing well and dating and about to move in with his boyfriend and start a new job. It's fabulous. And I'm still sad about how everything ended up, and all the hurt and all the ways I failed the relationship. Because I did. I forgive myself, though. And I forgive Jacob. He will always have a special place in my heart, no matter what happens. The way I love him has changed, but I'll never not love him.

Life is so funny. It has been a constant surprise. When I moved to Kansas City, I never thought that in 6 years I would be where I am right now. That is the beauty of life. It scares the shit out of me, though, knowing that my plans are lovely and good but most definitely will be upset in some strange and unexpected way. Like this gallbladder business. Seriously. What the fuck? Gallbladder? Really? Thank god it was a relatively superfluous organ. I've already had my tonsils and adenoids out. Now gallbladder. What's next? Appendix? Sign me up. I love surgery.

Blech. Seriously, though, surgery is the worst. The hospital is the worst. IVs and catheters and hospital gowns and hospital smell and being roused in the middle of the night to have your blood drawn is the worst.

You know what's not the worst, though? Sunshine and cookouts and swimming and friends and flowers and walking at the park and playing and loving and cookies and food and fun and camping and taking pictures and oh so much more.

I feel like this blog went a little stream-of-consciousness after the first couple of paragraphs, but I'm just going to go with it. It works.

---

*If I count myself breaking my own heart, which I think is warranted, the number is 4. And if you count Polaroid film, which is also warranted, the number is 5. I don't count Liz. I broke my own heart in that situation by allowing her to treat me the way she did for as long as she did. I let her snow me and manipulate me. And because she refused to see the real me and refused to be her real self she did not have my heart to break. I will not give that piece away.

passing afternoon

by Iron & Wine



There are times that walk from you
Like some passing afternoon
Summer warmed the open window
Of her honeymoon

And she chose a yard to burn
But the ground remembers her
Wooden spoons, her children stir
Her Bougainvillea blooms

There are things that drift away
Like our endless numbered days
Autumn blew the quilt right off the
Perfect bed she made

And she's chosen to believe
In the hymns her mother sings
Sunday pulls its children from their
Piles of fallen leaves

There are sailing ships that pass
All our bodies in the grass
Springtime calls her children until she
Lets them go at last

And she's chosen where to be
Though she's lost her wedding ring
Somewhere near her misplaced jar of
Bougainvillea seeds

There are things we can't recall
Blind as night that finds us all
Winter tucks her children in
Her fragile china dolls

But my hands remember hers
Rolling round the shaded ferns
Naked arms, her secrets still like
Songs I'd never learned

There are names across the sea
Only now I do believe
Sometimes with the windows closed she'll
Sit and think of me

But she'll mend his tattered clothes
And they'll kiss as if they know
A baby sleeps in all our bones so
Scared to be alone

i'm on this list called lucky

I am a very fortunate person.

People love me.

They care about me.

They think I'm cool and awesome.

I won't say that I have it easy. I assure you, I fucking don't. Easy is not a real thing.

But. I am lucky.

Lucky as shit. I'm like a four-leaf clover wrapped around a rabbit's foot attached to a horseshoe I'm so lucky.

But maybe luck isn't real. Maybe things just are what they are, and I have a good life because I've worked my fucking ass off to get to this point.

Nah. Surely luck had something to do with it. I wouldn't be the amazing person I am today had I not been born to my equally amazing mother. That seems an awful lot like luck to me.

a very lovely saturday

I had a very good day today. I went to Sertoma pancakes with Emily. It was so fun! Papa was there and other Deaf people, and there was an adorable old barbershop quartet. I had a really good time. Then Kate and Emily and I went to the herb fair, and that was pretty neat. I don't freak for herbs, or anything, but it was really good for me to be out and about and moving around, even if I was still in a hydrocodone fog.

But it totally wiped me out. I am so utterly exhausted, even after a two-and-a-half hour nap. It just shows me how not-yet-back-to-normal I am. Which sucks and is good at the same time. It sucks because I want to be better already, and it is good because I need to be aware of my limits and not push them.

But I am feeling better and better everyday. I will be back to normal in no time. All I'll have to show is a really awesome scar.

snails move too slowly

Last night was hard. I cried about missing so much school and being afraid of not being able to catch up. I was doing so well and everything was on track. And now the train is derailed. For the time being, anyway. Sigh. I'll have to get incompletes because the semester is almost over. That's fine. That doesn't necessarily bother me. But still. I'd rather go to class. But I can't. Even though I feel like doing a bunch of things, I can't. My job is to stay put and rest because I had major surgery not too long ago.

But I want to go to class tomorrow. And I can't. It's imperative that I don't push myself. Class is too much right now. I am on bed rest (or chair rest, couch rest, whatever). I have a stomach full of staples. I'm in a lot of pain, still. But I'm still plenty bored. Class would be less boring. It's a pull, you know. I am desirous to be normal again. But I can't speed things up by pretending I'm more healed than I actually am. It doesn't work that way, unfortunately. If it did I would be back to working and classing and playing and Emily would be dancing all night and running her 80 miles a day or whatever she used to do before her surgery. Alas. Bodies are fragile little creatures. They need coddling.

I woke up in the middle of the night in a lot of pain and cried some more and that was fun. I didn't take any pain meds right before bed. It makes me realized how not-fully-well I am and that sucks. Sometimes the Lor-Tabs make me think I'm fine and dandy because I'm foggy and can't feel the incision so much. It is a HUGE incision, too. I should measure it. It's at least six inches long. And I have two drain holes and another cut for the laproscope they tried at first before they were like "Holy shit this is one extremely inflamed, infected, angry gallbladder."

I mean, It was bad, you guys. Real bad. Like I had been living with the pain and ignoring it for a long time. Months, probably. Which is fucked. It's fucked that I do that. My pain tolerance is really high because I always have pain. So I just waited until I hurt so badly I wanted to die, and even then I didn't want to go to the doctor. Mom cajoled me for like two days before I finally agreed to go. And I had been hurting pretty badly for longer than that. I just didn't tell her.

This whole mess just makes me realize that I don't treat myself kindly. I punish myself for weird supposed sins, and while I've learned to listen to my needs emotionally and mentally, I ignore what my body tries to tell me a lot. Besides hungry, tired, thirsty. I feel like the pain is my own damn fault and I need to just suck it up. That is so fucked. I can't be healthy if I'm always punishing myself. I can't be healthy if I don't listen to my body. I can't be healthy if I'm still hating on myself all the time. That's what this surgery fiasco has taught me. Now I just have to apply that to my actual life and be better and kinder to myself. I deserve it. I owe it to myself. I am a good, nice, loving, caring, wonderful person and I wouldn't let other people treat me like this so why do I allow myself to do it?

Everything is interconnected. Mental, physical, emotional, spiritual. You can't just work on one. You have to address everything. And I'm slowly, slowly understanding that for reals. Everything takes time, though. I can't be perfect overnight (or ever, really, perfection is a myth, unless you are meaning perfect-in-your-flaws).

It will all come together. Sigh. It's hard, though. It's hard to reprogram yourself after 25 years. But if anyone can do it, I can. I've overcome so much already. I'm always growing, never static. It'll happen. I know it will. And it's not a light-switch type of thing, it's an evolution, revolution sort of movement. The unstoppable force of progress.

But for now, I am all about the resting.

young hearts run free

I was going to blog about the hospital, but I don't even want to think about the hospital ever again in my entire life, so I won't. Fuck the hospital. I'm over it. What I will do is blog about how grateful and thankful I am to all my wonderful family and friends and tribe, who seriously saved my life this past week. You kept my spirits up in that god-awful death factory, and I am forever in your debt.

I want to a thousand thanks for your caring actions, help and support, loving words, thoughts, prayers, visits, texts and tweets to:

Mom, Laura, Andrea, Aunt Elaine, Dad, Emily, Kate, Krystal, Dave, Justin, Aunt Beth, Papa Rodger, Pam, Grandma and Grandpa, Lisa, Melanie, Jeff, Cheryl, my lovely coworkers who sent me flowers, Mohammed, T-Budd, the nurses and nurse aids who kept me from dying, and anyone else whose name I can't remember.

(It's not my fault I don't remember. I was on a lot of morphine.)

I have never felt so loved and special and cared for. Thank you from the bottom of my nonexistent gall bladder.

Much love to you all. Goodnight.

drugs are gay

We saw this grafitti outside Blue Dome. So hilarious.

best. map. ever.

Don drew this map of the U.S. today in class. It was so great I had to take a picture. You might have to click on it and look at the full-size version to really see it. Good times, though.

anyday

by ani difranco

i will lean into you
and you can be the wind
i will open up my mouth
and you can come rushing in
you can rush in so hard
and make it so i can't breathe
i breathe too much anyway
i can do that anyday

i just wish i knew who you were
i wish you'd make yourself known
probably you don't know i'm her
the woman you want to call home
i'll keep my ear to the wall
i'll keep my eye on the door
'cause i've heard all my own jokes
and they're just not funny anymore
i laugh too much anyway
i can do that anyday

have you ever been bent or pulled
have you ever been played like strings
if i could see you i could strum you
i could break you
make you sing
but i guess you can't really see the wind
it just comes in and fills the space
and every time something moves
you think that you have seen its face
and i've always got my guitar to play
but i can do that anyday