As you may have noticed, I haven't been writing and posting very regularly these last few weeks. I have been reeling in the wake of life events, from both ends of the spectrum.

As we welcome a new life into the world, my family ushers another out. This week we will be saying goodbye to our gentle-souled Joseph--father, grandfather, great-grandfather.

The Empress Has No Clothes

The New York Times today published "When All You Have Left Is Your Pride"--essentially that old adage 'fake til you make it'. Pride equates perseverance and, dare I say it, success in difficult times. A valuable lesson, especially as of late. I look into the mirror. Reflecting on myself is the only luxury I seem to have left these days.

This isn't exactly how I pictured making it into the Times. That woman they described? Yeah, it's me. They gave me some pearls in order to protect my identity. Little do they know, I need more than outdated fashion to hide.

Struggling through these first months of career reorientation, I find myself putting on my fancies to go to the grocery store for cat food. My daily dress rehearsal. I dress to seduce this new life, like I did those free drinks last night. I only hope that I can stave off the life-hangover better than the alcohol one.

I can't help but wonder, though, when I dash by, heels clicking resolutely, can you see my nightgown tucked under my coat? Do you notice that that jaunty hat really hides unwashed hair? Does my lipstick dazzle you, distracting you from the truth? Do my loud huffs and wrinkled brow read tough day of negotiations or tough day of silent rejections?

I walk along these city streets, through curtains of rain washing away the remnants of winter. These are the streets of my childhood; I have returned to them. These streets were meant to knit together, weave themselves into my safety net. I spent years visualizing what it would feel like to once again have them solidly underfoot. I imagined them to emanate a sense of belonging and comfort. I did not, however, imagine the gaping holes; had not foreseen that I would take a step and end up waist-deep. That's what happens when you keep your eyes on the clouds overhead, and the horizon in the far distance, instead of the unsteady ground directly in front. Lessons are taught the hard way, and dreams tested to their limits.

I walk quickly, splashing through shallow puddles, fighting with the thieving wind for my umbrella. I accelerate as I try to outrun my thoughts. I quietly duck into a dark alley, trying in vain to lose Anxiety. He has been stalking me. Again. I thought I had left him. But, as it turns out, he was never far behind. I sit in a darkened classroom, inattentive, chewing pens, watching minutes pass by. I know that he is there, Anxiety, just outside that thin door, waiting for my exit. I won't be able to see him, but I'll feel him hungrily stare after me. I'll wheel around. He will hide just around that corner, behind that door, just down that dark hallway. Always just a little faster, just out of sight.

I hear his excited breath as he haunts me, waiting for that perfect moment of tentative relaxation. Then he will pounce, as lithe and as effortless as a jungle cat. He will attach, boring his tentacles deeply inside me. Slowly, the venom will release, poisoning my blood. Soon, my heart will be pounding, my breathing short, my voice choked. My head will drown in the onslaught of thoughts, all yelling for my attention, swelling my brain past the confines of my cranium. There will be nothing left to do but give in; be sucked down into the pile of shit. The pile of my shit. The shit of my own doing.

I have sat here before.

Same shit. Same pile. Relocated several hundred miles to the north.

Surrender to The Silence

I've been silent. I've been silenced.

I was chased back into my hole. I had slowly started to peak my head out, to crawl up from the inviting gloom, to gingerly gather my courage up into a ball, cradle it in my palm. I had poked the very tip of my nose out, taken my first timid sniffs at the air, weary of danger. And then she came along, brash and crushing. I retreated, ungracefully, my feet not moving fast enough on this unstable ground.

And there I hid for the rest of the week. The more I fought myself to get out, craned my neck to blink my tired eyes at the sun, the deeper I slipped back. I dug in, I clutched at blades of grass. I exhausted myself.

As the days passed, I gave in. I hunkered down having decided that I was going to be there awhile. Perhaps I would give it another go when Summer called, but Spring was certainly facing a losing battle. But with Surrender came Sun, seeping in like an oil slick, touching the edges of Me, warming skin inch by little inch, highlighting the niceties all around.

An uninterrupted rant over a salad.
An unexpected note of encouragement.
A gifted container of soy ice cream.
A cry of Anya.
A sleeping kitty warming feet in the morning.
A single Pink Lady.

Surrender is a funny thing. Fight, lose your footing. Give in to the inevitable sinking, soar.

Brought on by: Operation Nice.