In Galway gone, an age ago
where crumbling stones did meet the sea,
I walked where lonely mists did blow,
and in the shadows found I thee
Cathedral bells in darkness rung
and echoed down the slick night street;
no friendly footsteps on stones sung
among the kiss of falling sleep
But in my cold and naked palm
which scraped upon the mossy stones,
I felt the whisper of your psalm-
in empty hand, I held your own
My phone rang this morning while I stood at my desk, dealing with the usual barrage of problems that weren’t mine- an unidentified number from Seattle, WA. I don’t answer calls while I’m working, but there it was: Seattle, WA. So I answered, hasty, tight with panic that didn’t belong to 8:53 AM on a Thursday.
An unearned déjà vu flooded my ears before sound; a familiarity I have neither written nor spoken, but indelible nonetheless from the countless times played in my head: endless visions of disaster. Visions of answering an unknown number and hearing you, calling from the other end of a gun to say goodbye. Calling from a payphone next to a ditch, at the nasty end of a bender. Calling from the top of a building, from the middle of a bridge, from the edge of a cliff, from the bottom of a well. Do they have many of those in Washington? Continue reading “Déjà Vu”
I’m a bad reader.
Like many other things I’ve accomplished in my life due purely to a desire to prove other people wrong, I learned how to read out of spite. To make a long childhood story short, I skipped the majority of 2nd grade thanks less to a belief in my academic abilities, and more to a surprisingly effective attitude that I would be ok because I had no other choice. Coming out of a Los Angeles hippie commune filled with celebrity children and teachers who believed I would do things when I “was ready”, I found myself in a summer school program designed to keep kids with working mothers occupied, unable to write in print, and unable to read. Continue reading “In Defense of Getting Bored”
I don’t think it’s love that’s a lie, but maybe the way that we tell it. What are the odds of happiness, anyway? The American Dream seems statistically unlikely, when you think about it.
When I left you I thought it was, in a word, impossible. Impossible to have happened, impossible to live with. Even leaving halfway across the world didn’t seem quite far enough to make you Gone. What followed was a year that didn’t feel real; twelve months in someone else’s job, reminding myself that this suspended foreign reality was temporary, and that I would go home and go on with my life because there were no other choices, even if you wouldn’t be there anymore. I opened the cracked window above my head that slanted over the roof of my little blue room up in the mossy, cloudy spires of Somewhere New, and I thought about my choices. London lay in stone before me- infinite possibility still so limited by time and money and energy. By me. I hadn’t slept in months, between the best and the worst of the last year, and I couldn’t sleep then.
Continue reading “Impossible Odds”
My wonderful friend Megan and I did an absolutely fabulous (if I do say so myself) production of The Importance of Being Earnest with The Lead Players Theatre Co., which she founded in all her brilliance (and I helped). Check us out in the link!! So in other news, I am back, and about to kick my own back back into shape. See you soon!!
As the sun starts to peek out from behind the unusually grey February clouds, a young woman’s mind turns to Festival Season: where the flower crowns fund Etsy shops for the winter months, and CamelBak sales are at their urban retail peak. Aside from the one vacation day a year I ration for the glory of overpriced beer and extortive merchandising, my favorite festivals mean a weekend sighting of the Bay Brigadoon: my Bestie, BFF, Biffles, the Only Long Distance Relationship I Believe In, the notorious Mr. Zen. Z and I became friends only after I annoyed the hell out of him for four years, but it was 6th grade and I was in love with him so he forgave me for it. When High School hit I developed a solid sense of General Anger and he was there to remind me to give less fucks, if any at all, and we’ve been friends ever since. He built a computer in High School, knows more about software engineering and lucid dreaming than anyone I’ve ever met, and will probably only grow smarter, which both fills me with pride and a sort of creeping terror because I’m gonna have to keep up with all that. In the meantime he wears goggles to my bandana just for fun, and backs me up when people make fun of my pants. We’re almost definitely getting married, but we’ve got a lot of music to get through first.