but I haven't been running

I have a habit of disappearing. But lately I feel like my fits of flight have become more productive. I guess I have better places to end up and a few more loving arms to entice me back. I remember once I was distracted and upset and I found myself sitting at a rest stop off of the highway somewhere in PA and I put my car in park and buried my head in my hands. I have moments and I have whole days of stillness--yesterday was one--and at this time, I was having a day of stillness, too. I was stony for maybe ten minutes before I heard the clear sound of a single trumpet. When I looked around I saw a man sitting in the back of a truck forty feet away with a trumpet up to his mouth. He was playing scales and arpeggios and it was a cold afternoon and he was like crystal. I've always wondered why but at the time I accepted it as necessary. I could do that again--I could run away and have my only destination be a highway rest stop and selfish, lonely trumpet sound. But I haven't been running, and even when I do run, I already have a destination before I've left, and the destination is warm, and full of light. So this afternoon I feel like I've turned over a new leaf in my career as leaver, because I was restless and I started to feel the walls tightening around me and all I wanted was to run, so I did and I mean that literally--I mean I took off at a jog and it was a while before I came back. And that was only the first part, because later I got into my car and have ended up in an empty house up on a snowy hill with a dog and a cat and a guitar and it's really ok.

I can divide my brands of love into two

If my love for you isn't because you're not me, but better, it's because you're not me, and better.

blush

I won't say awkward because it was more
... a sly sort of inevitable
sitting with my fingers tied
and rain running down in
silver arrows.

g00d tidings

My father has hotkeyed in a new 'o' for my sorry, o-less laptop and for the first time since August, I can type complete sentences without the assistance of a clipboard. I feel that this augurs good things for the rest of the day. And if that's not enough--it should be--I have a green garland draped around my neck and bright red glass earrings dangling just above.

while I patiently wait for my laundry to fold itself

I'd estimate that this (I'm gesturing around my room, around my house, around my brain) is 1/3 pure mess. Actually, it's more than that in this room. I have been for a week emptying this container and that bag and the former contents are all over the floor. Don't judge me. I'll clean tomorrow. And I do have all but the last (let's find another fraction) 1/8 of my Christmas/holiday-time birthday gifts wrapped and some are on my dining room table and some are under a tree in the parsonage. That would be firmly in the non-mess side of things. My brain, though. It's allowing my hand to feed my mouth chocolate and buttered toast at 1:00am, so it can't be trusted and certainly qualifies as a floundering mess.
I feel like I've made it past an important hurdle. Of snow? I got over (only just) the injustice of being snow-bound for most of a weekend. Also, am done with work until January. If you'd think I would be thrilled, I'm not. I'm just... this is how it goes. It will be good to have a bit of break, it will be good to come back.
Christmas is going to be a good one this year. Let's be honest, everything in the past few months has been a good one because I've got good company. Like tonight, for example. I don't know that I've ever held anyone tighter. But I also say Christmas is going to be a good one because deep down I actually am pleased at the prospect of a white Christmas, and this one will be. And because my family is unbelievable. They are so much and we're going to be adventurers together, testing out the way this holiday feels in a new house an inch or so lower on the map.

I really can't be predicted because I refuse to do anything with this blog other than what I feel right at the very moment, so I don't know if I'll post something later that says 'Merry Christmas and blessings and THANK YOU FOR READING MY SILLY AND SURPRISINGLY INCOHERENT WORDS.' If I don't actually say it, assume the sentiment is there, and that I'm just too busy cuddling and singing 4-part harmony and drinking hot chocolate to put the thought into words. Thank you. And you. And really, you.

hemmed in

This two feet of state-crippling snow is absolutely gorgeous and I hate it.

a very different buzz

I look at myself in the mirror. I'm wearing red and my eyes are wild and my hair is ruffled and dusted with snow and I think to myself: you are loved. And Loved. I sway and then catch myself on the edge of the sink--the last glass of wine is still running through my blood--and I see all these things. Favors and gifts and the right place at the right time. Shiny silver wrapping paper and Christmas cards and anticipation. Oh, I do appreciate spellcheck and I do appreciate the way the snow came up to my shins as I waded up to my back door a few minutes ago. I feel like I'm too far north, but I'm here--I'm in Virginia and I'm glad to be so and this snow, this sparkly, deep, drifting snow, is covering up everything I've been trying to forget. I need nights like these, with the blue and red and green and white lights and endless glasses of sangria and mutualism and the boy who drives in to town through the snow just to be with me, to be by my side when I need him. I mean, who am I to earn this? I'm not, and I have not, but it's mine, nonetheless--the dear, dear friend in the tall white socks and the laughter and accented voices and oranges hung on a tree. I mean: I'd be thinking all of this even without the buzzing in my head, but it's helping, in a way, to get this in place and to put it in a line. I don't mind.

a shrill buzz

My mind looks like this: DON'T BE AFRAID hibernate later letter people what do I have that's worth $10 killer ringtone will I have time before the now STOP WORRYING let's be reasonable here I'm so behind on holiday cheer I always get this timing wrong want to have the wrapping over with real ribbons I have to leave the office but I refuse to put on my glasses wish I could be in that audience again tonight I'm embarrassed to show my need the problem is fear, I'll tell you right now--it's fear and that's all-- 110 pages and the wrong resolution what the eff, self, are you thinking it would kill you to make sense hold me, you feel good MAYBE I'LL FAKE BLINDNESS I still have the stocking on top of my wardrobe I never have anything to say when does that stop being ok I'm not sure how to face another storm penit! penit! how much longer can I avoid cleaning up the mess I'm leaving I always wish I could also be somewhere else but there's nowhere else CHIN UP I get why this is a choice but I'm too timid to speak my decision craving green sheets I only have half what I had a year ago I should become as heartless as you think I am for self defense this is all way too blue and very very average I just lied about my bike MORE LINT I wish it were already next year because I'M LOSING and would rather have already lost apple pies feigning interest I still feel you on my stomach THANK GOD YOU CANNOT READ MY MIND I'm jealous--wait, plane tickets?--I'm feeling empty would like to be smothered or whispered to thumbnail thumbnail what if I miss out on the family and tomorrow am a disappointment I HAVE BEEN FEELING SO BORING.

maybe later

I've been carrying around a shopping list in my pocket all week and continually rationalizing my way out of actually doing anything to reduce it. And guess what--I think I just talked myself out of going shopping tomorrow after work, too! Because I swear, I'm going to set my alarm for the last possible minute tomorrow morning because --it's late-- and that means I probably won't even fully wake up until I'm home from work and THEN I'll take care of little details like hygiene and cat naps and THEN I'll spend all evening at a Christmas party. It's so easy.

recovery

I'm not sure I knew exactly that I had a person-shaped hole in my day until it was filled by a tall and gentle sweet-smelling man who kissed my forehead and made music and tracked dragons with me.

accident

Halfway to work this morning I turned a corner and didn't see the patch of black ice. My bike flew out from under me and into the road and I landed with an icy thud three feet away. You know how it is--you close your eyes tightly for a second and you let your body relax into the pavement. Am I whole? I'm whole. I got to my feet and pulled my bike out of the road. Checked us both over. My bike is a beast; it's not even scratched. Me, well, I may be a bit bruised, but I am certainly in tact. I sat on the curb for half a minute, catching my breath and holding my head. I finally stood and smoothed my scarf and straightened my helmet and kicked off, thinking 'I am fine, I am fine, I am fine.' I am fine. But as I picked up speed again my eyes filled with tears and I cried the rest of the way to work. Not because I'm hurt--I was just bent and muddied--but because in the space of the three minutes of falling and caution and recovery, fully four vehicles had stopped to make sure I was ok. A lady in a truck even offered to give both me and the bike a ride to wherever I was heading. So I cried, because I AM ok, and because I easily could not have been, and because early morning strangers would have been kind.

I've gotten the mud off and my head is finally clearing, but this is going to color the rest of my day--I'm going to be very young.

conspiracy

I am quite pleased by the fact that my boyfriend's car is sentient and is in truth actively conspiring to keep us together. Am also pleased by a handful of paper snowflakes and the killer combination of a gingerbread latte and gingersnap cookies.

like a big blanket of happy

My lower half is fine. The long underwear does its trick. But the top half of me hasn't fully fought off the chill of an early morning bike ride in sub-freezing air. I'm not actually complaining—I don't actually mind the challenge and the almost-too-cold fingers that revive again the minute I'm inside the warm library. I have ways of coping with the chilly arms and shoulders that lag behind.

It's been a good week. The wind-down week. The office is slipping into a half hibernation that we will maintain until the middle of next month. It empties. The stacks shrink and stay low. We upgrade and we trim and we plan ahead, a little. My breathing slows, I write long, long rows of words, speeches to myself in my free time. I try to remember where exactly I left off in the book on my windowsill that I last touched back in June. The thing about me is that I often fail to recognize patterns because I can never remember what came before. But in this case, in the case of this week and the next, I do remember. I know this is the way it always is. I know I felt just so last year at this time and will again.

I am still thinking about warm. I am feeling, aside from the outside of me, wholly so. I almost lifted out of my seat twice last night while I listened to my brother and the rest of the choir sing and once I almost did when I was playing along. I will always say yes. It fills me up. Not to mention the warmth I felt in the after, in the arms, in the ability to help, in the way the warm pink coat got me home and back and home again. I am flooded with joy when I hear news of engagements and look forward to helping, to being right there. And I can nearly choke on the affection I feel for my family, for the warm house on the hill that's becoming a home, for the odd, sacred, unplannable fellowship of four that makes me the luckiest one. They are my best quality.

I can't get this better than how it is: I am exactly where I should be.

every damn time

Yes!
I do know how to restore my sense of self when it falls apart! I have a method--I have a way of slapping me into sense. The catch is that,
No!
I refuse to let that solution kick in automatically!

I like to make myself suffer first.

But I do come around.

home

There's freezing rain against the window. I'm at my parents' house for the evening. For the night, if I feel like letting myself get iced in. I do. I'm taking the morning off work tomorrow to be there for my brother when he gets up on a stage and tells an audience what Africa was to him. So until then I am safe and warm here. I've been sipping tea and sitting at their piano and playing something I'll never be able to replicate. I know I was throwing in a lot of Cmaj7 chords but other than that it was nonsense. The way I like it. I am content.

ch-ch-ch-changes

I used to think I'd be the one standing still while the world around me spins. But I'm moving, too. I'm evolving and revolving and leaving the static in my wake. I have changed. The problem is timing; the problem is not falling off the wheel when the outer world turns in one direction around me while I'm twisting the opposite way in the middle.
But suddenly I'm looking forward to a new year. To the holidays that will come first, and then to old friends and long days and turning the page to a new set of months and a new set of living and being, and is it too trite to say loving?

I woke up grumpy

but I'd say the day picked up steam. A Baptist morning (I was fine because I was wearing black and sitting up front and at the end they handed me a sizable paycheck in exchange for limited effort). Hours of a quartet (quintet) of band music. A quicksilver nap. Liturgical Evensong with harmonies so thick I didn't want to exhale. Jazzy Christmas music and diet coke that wasn't but might as well have been spiked. Hours of warm green blankets and patience and honest-to-god you make me whole. I end the day still smiling, because there was such music in my day! I'm referring mostly to the last few hours which were unaccompanied except by our laughter.

24 hours

Yesterday we were sitting around a table in a Venezuelan restaurant and watching the waiter watch WWF instead of bring our check. It was ok--I have been in worse binds. And then there was a show a town away and a compelling reason to be there. My name was on the VIP list. The bouncer touched my shoulder as I walked by. 'Ooh, you are important!' I function function functioned all the way up until the end, through a few drinks and a few secrets and localized dancing, and past the time my friends were ready to leave. It's ok. I have a way home. And I'm still not afraid of sitting at a table alone. Besides, I was was/am/will be entirely occupied whenever I'm in that sort of audience. The balance shifted from needed to needy when the music faded and the bar emptied. I realized the poems I'd been scribbling were nonsense; I realized I'd been awake for too long to follow lines. I wished my sweater zipper worked. I wished I were already at home, and that home was different. It was so hard for me to leave the shoulder and arm that had been mooring me and make my way inside alone. He drove away before I'd found my keys. I was heavy. I fell asleep at 4:00 am in the middle of a thought and woke five hours later to a blanket load of new snow and a pounding body ache. Forgot my downsides when there was a familiar voice at my door and then a bonecrushingly anticipated bear hug from the brother whom I have had to live without for four months (AND IT SHOWED). I would have said--well, for the rehearsals and the hormones and the braving the cold, there could be worse days! But my car wouldn't start. Because, probably, I'd just yesterday been talking about how for five years it's never let me down. I stood in the road, wet feet and frazzled hands, wishing I'd be catching snowflakes on my tongue instead of making harried phone calls... can I borrow the car? No, really. Trudged down the long road (It seemed), dug out another, inched through town. Starving. Hadn't managed to eat lunch. The rehearsal, now, that was fine. It was long without dragging. I was clear and my timing was in place. But I again felt needy. My pant legs didn't dry entirely even after I'd been in the church for two hours. And I had to pry the silver ring off my finger (I just typed pry the silver finger off my ring and almost didn't want to fix it) as I inched across town again. With a taco. With a headache. My car still wouldn't start. I checked again. I heated up the leftover coffee and told myself, don't worry because the best part of the day is to come! If I make it there! I am tired of snow already and it's been three quarters of a day and two inches. But my entire family was fitting around the dining room table again this evening. It'd been a while. And the kid on my right, wow. Do you know, there's really just something about the way I love that brother of mine? It's different. We put together a Christmas tree. This is the first year it's fake. I craved the scent of pine. In the crowded den we cycled through hundreds of photos of Africa. Quickly--we'll go slow later, when the jetlag wears off and the gaps have been filled in. He seems to have been enamored of tiny flowers and goats. My mind wandered. I think I was comparing skin tones. We watched a movie, we juggled cars and keys and logistics and times. I am grateful to my car for cutting out after my dad has moved here and not before. He puts the right thoughts into my head. I am home now. Kind of hiding. Wishing I had eyes and ears at a restaurant across town, because this somehow seems more feasible than sending my whole body. My feet have been cold all day, and my eyelids are slick and feeling poisonous. My highs and my lows have not been taking turns, and I think that's a sign that I need to sleep. Will wake up in the morning in time for the Christmas cantata that needs my help--unless it ices over and is canceled. In that case, let's spend the day in bed.

not cryptic

Hey, I like it when you bug me. Because then I get to bug you back. And then I get to reassure you, get to absolutely cover you up from head to toe with dude, really, I mean this.

looking in the mirror and thinking

today I wish my eyes were brown and for a stronger sense of duty.

I can be backwards

I am awake late at night because I will roar myself out of bed in the morning. Because of the echoes of steel drums and expensive chocolate and Aerosmith and plaid shorts and tick tick tick boom. In the meantime, between now and afewshorthoursfromnow I'm thinking:

I can be backwards.

I can get to the place where my outer edge
is disobeying, and recognize this,
and refuse to self-correct.
Flat out no.
No.

I think this is a disservice.
I think I actually have more control
when I'm dropping myself by the wayside--on purpose.
Discard me in favor of you.

Like a box of second-hand clothes,
I do a much bigger favor to accept
than the giver does to place it in my arms.