The Utterly True Adventures of a Pathological Liar

2008-04-23T22:30:00.001-05:00

Texas 28, Oklahoma 10

2008-04-23T18:53:00.005-05:00

Does fur ever go out of style, faux or real? We all crave warmth, things that carry that rich scent - the earthy, musky, deep odors. Blacks, browns, reds - those deep colors.

But I am a slave to a more internal gnaw, a hunger that occupies my overwrought mind. My twin shoots sidesaddle upside down blindfolded. She frightens only me, and as I race to catch up to slow her down I myself can no longer see.

What is such finery to a senseless mole? Better to hang jewels off the fatted calf than the lean, matted goat. And what of a fine death? Can I dream it so? No sniveling, no trembling; a cold compress of calm. "Heavens no," my doppleganger whisphers. Buckshot and bullets nestle in that awful grin, "There's hell to pave...faster and faster, I'm bound and determined to win!"

I am uncomfortable with my dark feelings. All the rage and judgement steals away good sense, and that brutal truth leaves more than my pockets empty. Ironically, the term "Anger Management" makes me laugh. Oh, it's funny when I try to pick berries from a pile shit, breathing in and out, imagining a golden bubble filled with love and light that *POPS* to wash over me. In reality, I find this as effectual as spraying Glade over a stinky-ass garbage can. "Walk softly and carry a big stick," she says, "and mind the hornet's nest while you're at it."

Yes, Tweedledee, the notion of watching the chaos and laughing makes me happier than the idea of being sick with it. No, not laughing at misfortune, laughing at how random wonder and horror are. You can cry and smile at once. You can scream outrage, you can rain praise.

2007-11-13T13:22:00.000-06:00

we rush through the morning

barely time to wave hello

depositing little kiddos on bright, padded floors

out the door

blow a kiss

see you soon, my love

back in the car, off to our jobs

leaving behind the most important one

guilt!

why do we carry it with us all day long in place of our daughters and sons?

++++++

your carrot mustache

daydreams of sweet peas

her buddha dipped in piXie sticks

2007-02-06T17:57:00.000-06:00

easy bake oven

2007-01-24T08:23:00.000-06:00

2007-01-08T10:19:00.000-06:00

I thank my baby girl every morning I wake for my chubby thighs. I've never felt more beautiful.

Her St. Patrick's Day debut has me shivering with excitement.

2006-12-21T15:02:00.000-06:00

You’ve inspired me
Women on the verge of a nervous breakdown
Reaching inward to salvage the pearls passed down
Without our knowledge
Our sense takes hold

Who was I?
In you I find myself
Your mirror sharpens a once blurry edge
I’ve kept my eyes closed
One hand on the rail
Shaky feet searching for the next solid step
Where, oh, where does this fear come from?

A head case
A heart break
A toe kick
A hand to fist

Everyday it appears and takes a new shape

When tears always come too quick
When flight is the fight that I pick
When I blame everyone else but me
When I forget what it means to just fucking breathe
When I can’t focus on the deal
When the only thought is my next meal
When you pity the role that I play
When I shamefully wish it that way
When the rhyme in time is all that will soothe
When I can’t find the courage to move
When the loneliness turns in on itself
When will I accept that there is no REASON WHY

Only me: your sad, laughing, loyal child.

2006-09-12T12:51:00.000-05:00

2006-09-12T08:50:00.000-05:00

I’m experiencing some pretty nasty abdominal cramps and have the sharp scent of horseradish in my nose. Me worry?

The grass is always greener on the other side of the electric fence.

2006-09-07T19:11:00.000-05:00

by the light of tonight’s full moon
a robin sings, the crickets rest
fallen nectar smears ‘neath the windshield wiper
trade heels for a midsummer’s dress

hopping over the neighbor’s fence
breathe in for the first
fall’s trip on leaves
i might even whistle a good morning to you
as early as dusk peeks o’er the trees

2006-09-07T18:22:00.000-05:00

2006-09-07T14:14:00.000-05:00

Art called me. Funny, I thought I’d scared him off right and proper. It warms my heart a bit to realize there are men out there that will date a pregnant woman, and his interest, while it puzzles me, is sincere. I have, however, no design on involvments at this time, my plate being too full for anything more than dinner.

I’ve only told a few people that I’m expecting. I find that holding one’s tongue holds in what is truly precious; the act of spreading news quickly dissolves its potency. As she is sacred, she is kept close.

2006-09-03T14:20:00.000-05:00

I bit into the fragrant flesh and savored its promised sweetness - until I happened upon the rotten core, that is. Such is life.

I have found a name for my wee one. It is divinity.

2006-09-03T13:42:00.000-05:00

2006-09-02T22:08:00.000-05:00

I arrived at my destination and undressed. Slowly. First, my blouse. Next, my jeans. I lingered a while in my undies, purusing the CD collection. Drug of choice: Prince.

The bass kicked in first. Then the synthesizer. I moved slowly to the undercurrent and let the rest wash over me. Removing the last article of clothing I fell into a trance, impelled by the pure desire of motion. Skin on skin, twisting and turning, falling and rising, the sweat bead met the floor board until I finally felt clean.

More than a release, dance for me is life enraptured.

2006-09-02T12:44:00.000-05:00

Solitude. A short walk or perhaps a DVD to pass the time.

There are plenty of places to go and people to visit.

Why, tonight I am going over to my sister's in-law's house for dinner, although I was asked by both Mom and A not to attend. Reason: these people are evidently judgmental and may not like that I am pregnant and unmarried. Ha, I quipped, then they probably won't appreciate the fact that this child's father lives in Australia, huh? How about I bring in the broken rubber and my empty bc pill packet as evidence that I'm not completely inadequate as a "proper" woman. No? Yeah, pretty circumstantial.

Hey, before that mess I have another date with destiny. I am going to visit Tina this afternoon. She was just fired yesterday, and the story goes like this: I had a great job, but I got pregnant and sick at the same time and recommended my friend Tina to take over while I was on maternity leave. Thing was, no one wanted "sicky" back when the time rolled around and I ended up losing my position to her. So, I come back to this business after months in Africa just to be their receptionist only to watch my friend get fired and then be taken aside twenty minutes later - Sunshine, we really missed you and would love to have you back on our team. Are you fucking kidding me with this shit?! Now, Tina is quite upset, and I, as a friend and smart woman (burned once), cannot take this position even though I love the work and it makes the best sense financially.

Alone is lookin' good, baby. Perhaps I may drive out to Marfa and catch some cosmic rays.

2006-08-30T14:10:00.000-05:00

2006-08-30T11:38:00.000-05:00

What kind of person am I? I swear I’ve felt so selfish lately that if my time was up the universe would probably send me back as a sneeze. A great, green glob of one.

Yesterday was the anniversary of Caleb’s death. I could barely speak of it. I went home early and holed up in bed until the light outside faded. I was fading. I needed darkness to find my focus.

The structure of darkness is far from empty; as space is considered neither vacuous nor replete, in all that it amounts to zero, ‘fore and aft. No, dark sits heavy on the chest, so when a star flickers blithely in the night, all feelings swiftly recompose to draw on that light. Between too much and not enough, light is both the exposer and the salve.

My ex-fiancée’s wife gave birth to their baby girl yesterday. I was not in the frame of mind to receive the news gleefully, despite the fact I am quite happy for them both. What unforgivable sin did they commit? None that would hold up to the light of day, but that night a sandpaper gash ran the length of my soul.

Every birth is a blessing; still even now the rash persists. Foolish, stubborn humans, think of what we could accomplish if we only appreciated what truly is, especially when we cannot see.

2006-08-25T18:12:00.000-05:00

2006-08-25T17:06:00.000-05:00

"So this is how you died. In whispers that you did not hear..."
Hemingway

Journal entry - June 1, 2006

In the quest to remedy starvation there is more than meets the eye. A lack of food can bring an otherwise healthy man to the brink: he may lash out, withdraw, hoard meaningless things, steal, lie, and when desperate, hurt himself or others. His heart shrinks, his blood pressure falls, and his cells break down. You cannot give a malnourished person a hamburger and call it good.

The body's ability to protect itself to the point of destruction boggles the mind.

This morning was rough to say the least. At this time I am not trained to handle urgent care (a grueling practice for both nurse and patient), but there’s more than enough to swallow on the other end. A three year-old placed in my care will be released in less than a week with an extra ration of dried fortified milk and no where to go. Her family is missing.

More adults die in this camp than children.

Does the world hold these adults responsible for having children in a country without means, not taking a moment to fully grasp the lack of education, the violence, the cultural pressure, and when comes down to it, the entropy of a starved mind? It is the adults who suffer due to neglect. They are harder to care for - with age comes pride, resistance and the devastation of loss.

Frances told us of a Somali woman brought to the camp, near death and refusing treatment. Her family had been murdered and she no longer wished to live. When a little girl came up to her crying, she slowly sat up and asked for a comb to brush the child's hair. That interaction, that feeling of being worthwhile, was all she needed to survive.

Still, there is hardly enough for man, woman or child.

This isn't the hot bed of excitement one sees on ER. Not the short news clip or the 20 minute commercial featuring emaciated children too weak to speak of money. Reality show contestants paid to entertain never truly waste away, they only waste our time.

Every night we pack up and drive 20-30 miles to the staff camp. Every morning we return and hope our med tent is standing. Four questions hang heavy in the rushing air.

Is the water contaminated? Will we have enough rations? Has the aid truck finally arrived?

Three questions plagued by the other set deep in the mind.

In a country where more is less, is hope a luxury?

2006-08-24T16:44:00.000-05:00

My mother gifted me a box of 50 cards entitled "The Language of Letting Go". Here is what the first one commanded:

today i will...realize that being myself and letting others be themselves is far more important than being "right." Value and worth are not dependent on being right, and I'm striving for love in my relationships, not superiority. I won't hide behind being right, but will just let myself be who I am.

Exactly. I immediately threw the other 49 cards in the trash.

I'm cured!

On another note: I've landed the role of a topless corpse in a campy pirate movie. Raquel, their makeup artist, took one look at me and squealed in delight. "You look practically dead already!" Top of the world, mom.

2006-08-23T17:28:00.000-05:00

2006-08-23T15:24:00.000-05:00

There exists a kindly, if boisterous, nature in both the Irish and the Scots. They appreciate the texture of luxury on limited means, know the healing powers of music and dance, the importance of a large, tight-knit family, and boy, do they love a good fight.

The English? Nah, more like, "Say ol' chap, another round of tea and crumpets? Hmm?"

My heritage is all three, more Ulster-Scots, a combination commonly the result of that ancient discord over land and religion. There are times I feel branded by the mix - the fire of the Irish, the sovereign contempt of the English, and the largely opportunistic Scots (often pawns in a greater game).

Anyway you stir the pot, gregarious or not, it appears I am an irreverent opportunist filled with rage. Has this diminished over time with each passing generation? I witnessed the struggle in my parents. I feel the same within me.

For mine own child I wonder, with whom and which side do I begin to make peace?

2006-08-22T16:26:00.000-05:00

2006-08-20T09:00:00.000-05:00

I realize that Kurt Cobain was the musical spearhead of his generation, that he shaped pop (by the teeth, woman...take that back!) grunge culture, that his influence on youth and adults alike drove slackers to take it easy and reflect (is everyone gay?) before it (popped!) and rained rampant productivism on the music of today.

His genius was the construct on which others shaped a new style of play. Yes, without him the Foo Fighters would not exist.

But, and this is a big but, they wouldn't exist with him either. It is like what the dude in Filter said - "Hey, nice shot, man!"

Am I going to hell for saying that? I fear the Corbainians of the world might unite to hunt me down and skull fuck me. It'd be worth it.

I LOVE YOU, FOOS!