To Do List.

1. Get Up
2. Survive.
3. Go back to bed.

["I felt the foundation begin to shake, and in my head I said, Run. But I couldn't run. Not from this place that had taken me three years to build. I held the cloth and let everything fall on top of me. My knees buckled, I went down to the floor. I cried in English, I cried in French, I cried in all the languages, because tears are the same all around the world. Esperanto."]

This just in...

I don't give a fuck.

The Next Generation

My life as of late consists of crying on the couch, while watching emotionally charged episodes of Degrassi.

Sometimes your 20's just plain suck.

Does he think we're hookers? No- we're wearing cardigans!

Forgot how much I miss those girls, how nice it is to have those conversations where none of us ever finishes our sentences because there is no need to...we understand eachother so well that we already know what each person is gettting at.

Sometimes it is good to be surrounded by those people who remind you of who you were, and who you are today.

My girls saved me tonight, like they have before, and like they will again.

Holding out hope.

Strip away the layers and reveal your soul.
You've got to give yourself up, and then you become whole.

Price Check!

I think the Wal-mart on Quebec on a Saturday afternoon may be the single most stressful, anxiety- creating, all around yucky place on Earth.

I hate grocery shopping.
This is why I survive off of things that come in wrappers.

Hmph.

"I mean if you're able to go into a collapse with all your might, why can't you use the same energy to stay well and busy?"

ugh.

I though it had passed. I was waking up more hopeful. I was sleeping through the night. I was making an effort.

There are some mornings when I wake up feeling like I might actually have the strength to make it through the day. Then there are mornings where I barely have the strength to make it out of the bed.

I am looking for consistency.

To:Jesse James

262 Estes Park Road
Loveland, Colorado
Feb 14, 1966

Dear Jesse James,
I have watched your show. I think it is the best show their is. If you have time, would you please write to me. I've watched every show you've had. Please ask the man that plays Frank to write to me if he has time. If you ever come to my house, to hide from people that may be after you, I would hide you. I hope you will write back. I hope your show will go on for ever. I am a girl, but I act like a boy. I'm going to be just like you.
Love,
Patty Proctor

P.S I think you make a neat Jesse James and I think if you want to come and see me we could make room.

[This was written by my mother when she was 11 years old. She was writing to the actor who played Jesse James, a notorious American outlaw who robbed banks and trains. I can just picture my mother's 11 year old self lying on the floor, feverishly writing away to this outlaw, inviting him to come stay at her house:) I especially love the part when she informs him that she is a girl but she acts like a boy!]

I have been looking through my mother's childhood photo albums and baby books lately. It is fascinating to see the pictures and watch my mother transform into the beautiful, strong woman she is today.


Our mothers are more than just "moms." Weird huh?
It is strange to think that they were once young like us, once naive, and just as lost and confused as we are now. They did not always hold the role and responsibility as they do now- finders of lost socks, solvers of all problems big and small.

As I have grown older, my relationship with my mom has morphed and changed into something I have grown to cherish.
Sure, during high school we had those rough patches that most mothers and daughters go through, and I still feel guilty for the Hell I know I often put her through, but we survived, even flourished- and now we have made it to this place where we are more than just mother and daughters. We are best friends that can share in the struggle and joy that is being a woman.

I have come to appreciate the advice my mother gives me because I know she was once in my position. She too had heartbreaks, she too learned the hard way, she too felt lost and alone and didn't know how she would make it through. But she did, and she is stronger because of it.

I do not want to be my mother one day. I want to be me....but she has helped shape me into the person that I am today, and the person that I will become. We all have a piece of our mothers inside of us. There is no separation between us and them. They live inside of us.

I am my mother's daughter, and I could not be more grateful.

He's got a huge ego, such a big ego.

" 'God damn it," he said, there are nice things in the world- and I mean nice things. We're all such morons to get so sidetracked. Always, always, always, referring every goddamn thing that happens right back to our lousy little egos."


Ego can be defined as, "the self especially as contrasted with another self or the world."
When I read this, I immediately think of those most egotistical people I have encountered in my life and the toxic nature of those individuals...but then I realize that each of us has the ego in us, and that ego itself is not necessarily some unnatural,evil device. Yet, while one's realization and acknowledgment of "self" is crucial to grasping some sort of understanding as to who we are in this vast world, what is at our core, there is also a very dividing, separate nature that comes with the ego. Must it always be a contrast between ourselves and others? Is this notion of "us vs. them" really necessary in defining our own existence?

We live in a society of competition. Stay on top or get trampled by the herd. Win...or be the loser. Stand your ground to the point of hostility, or be eaten alive in the rat race to the top. Time moves so quickly these days, if you try to slow down for a minute to catch your breath, you get left in the dust.

I can't help but wonder what an ego-less world might look like. Perhaps without the notion of always having to differentiate ourselves from our "opponents," we might begin to see that we are really more alike than we would like to think. And is that really such a bad thing? Sure we have all been raised with the mantras " you're special; you're unique," But there is some sense of comfort and empathy in the realization that we all share this same plight of simply surviving.

Charles Bukowski writes, "...I feel sorry for us all or glad for us all, caught alive together, and awkward in that way..we should build a great bonfire
we should congratulate ourselves on our endurance...that's lighting enough..."

And I could not agree more. "Me too," really is all it takes to remind us all that we are not alone.

And somehow this make life a little less scary.

An anniversary, a birthday, and an epiphany

Today was good, and I needed it.
A good run
A trip to the mountains.
My favorite people crowded around a bonfire.
Eating delicious food, and not feeling guilty..at least not as much.
Celebrating mommy's birthday
Watching Cam and Julia's Slovakian wedding video.

"Some days, it's like there is a wall between me and everybody else."

But every day, I feel stronger.


[I'll swallow the regret,remember how it felt, and keep going.]

Grown up?

Funny how when we are young, we just want to run away from home and be "grownups."

Now that I am sort of a "grownup," I just want to run home.

Don't be a Boob.

Dear Boobs,
Please stop growing. At first it was fun to actually fill out a bra. But now you are just annoying. Many girls out there would appreciate/flaunt you more than I ever will. So really it's best for both of us if you just go away, and leave me to my A cup, bra-less, carefree self.

Best Regards,
Kate.