A Very Brave Heart

"sometimes when things stop making sense it’s best to slowly remove yourself from everything & become a secret little ghost. unplugging your phone, leaving the internet, refusing to speak. you can drift through your days in a fog & not think much about anything because thinking would lead to too many things & your frail little heart may be too full of sadness to really want to bring those things up. well my handsome little ghosties, usually this hiding away only leads to being a ghost much longer than anticipated. these ghostly vacations do not solve anything. they store your problems in a locked case deep in your glass hearts & once the box is full it will explode & then & then & then you’ll be haunted. let’s try something new. ghost to ghost secret: it will be tough & it may hurt a tiny bit but think of how bad a glass-heart explosion could hurt! grab my hand & please listen: being a ghost is oh so easy but is it as satisfying as we first believed? no no no. so let’s change. it will take a very brave heart. we must say what we believe! fight for what we believe! never back down. we must call on our close friends when we just feel like escaping. we must NOT escape. we must say yes to invitations to be surrounded by people who truly care. we must say no when we mean no. we must say yes when our heart says ‘yes yes yes’ but our fears make us want to say ‘no no no’. we must TALK. we must share our silly stories. we must not fear how we come off to strangers. we must believe that the people who will love us & stay with us will be drawn to everything we do, every piece of our unlocked heart they see. being a ghost is quite easy & the easy way hardly ever leads to the most rewarding outcome."

From YOU ARE REMARKABLE

Sorry it's been quiet around here, friends. I'm trying to find my Very Brave Heart amidst stormy seas.

Twenties

This was the summer of the girl's 23rd year. Last week, she stood waiting at the corner waiting for the walk signal and a strange boy came up to her and said, "How old are you?" She told him, "None of your business," but in her head she couldn't remember. Twenty-two? Twenty-three? And when did it become unimportant? In her earlier youth she wore her age like a badge: nineteenwas embossed on a red shiny heart pinned to her chest, twenty printed on an expired coupon next to the Shin's lyrics, "Geriatric at 20 years old." The badge for twenty-two, however, (And she expects twenty-three through twenty-eight to follow suit) has no number, is just a plain green circle. It means go go go. This is the badge for the Reality Bites years, the ubiquitous 20s. This is the decade where all the previous ages link like a chain of paper dolls--age two holds age three's hand and on and on.

She's reminded of the short story "Eleven" by Sandra Cisneros: "What they don't understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you're eleven, you're also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one . . . Like some days you might say something stupid, and that's the part of you that's still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama's lap because you're scared, and that's the part of you that's five. And maybe one day when you're all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you're three, and that's okay. That's what I tell Mama when she's sad and needs to cry. Maybe she's feeling three. Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one."

The girl's ages have stacked together to give her this summer. She washes dishes at night, the new Camera Obscura album plays and she feels like this scene would be in a movie about her 20s. She's not wearing any pants. It's about to rain; the window's open. Yellow lamp light. Her vegan boyfriend in the bedroom, drawing. Sometimes when she narrates her life to herself it sounds like an indie cliche. She smiles.

Nights and Weekends

Maybe some of you readers who have been adults for a while can chime in. Or anyone who's been a functioning member of society, really, is more than welcome to add their two sense to the following question:

When you work full time, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU DO WITH YOUR FREE TIME?!

Let me explain.

Two weeks ago I began working full time. I'm out of work at 3pm every day and have weekends off. My life has never been this, well, regular: I've always had a part time job to go to at night or classes at odd hours of the day. But now it's weird. I'm like a different person. I feel productive because I work, so my mood has been happy--if that weren't the case, I'd come home and fall directly asleep. And though technically I have less free time, it feels like I have more. So, I come home from work, I'm tired, but the day is still early and I want to do stuff. But not too much stuff because I'm tired and have to wake up early for work the next morning. WHAT DO I DO?

Here are the following things I've tried:
Reading
Watching shows
Napping
Computing
Socializing with friends
Drinking
Lying on the couch whining to L
Shopping

I recognize I could do other productive things, like exercising! taking a walk or bike ride! learning to cook! re-learning to knit! scrapbook! Which: fuck no, maybe later, no thanks, boring and oh my god no.

I am traveling a lot on the weekends, so those days are less of a concern but weeknights? You can barely enjoy your time, knowing that in a few short hours, you have to wake up and start all over again.

Am I missing something that other full time working people know? Is there a secret I've yet to be told?

Aaaannndddd it's nap time.

I Wanna Do Bad Things

You all are so lucky I haven't turned this into a True Blood Mega Fan Site. Don't think the thought hasn't invaded my mind 23 out of 24 hours each day. Also: True Blood tattoo? Too much?

Tip of the Hat

Now that she's posted about it on her own blog, I can finally post it on mine: My good friend The Pop Quiz Kid secured an internship at The Colbert Report in New York City!

Admit it, Readers, you are jealous.

I'm so excited for her and all she'll learn and the opportunities it'll bring her.

Congratulations, Maddie!

We Make a Pair of Parentheses

Last Thursday marked L and my three year anniversary. To celebrate, I gave him a bloody nose. True story.

You can read all about how we met in this post. It's a cute story, if you disregard the fact that, in hindsight, I shouldn't have traveled to a remote location the first time I met some strange boy off the internet. You know what they say, though: fuck hindsight.

We had initial plans to recreate our first day. We were going to march up to the corner we first saw each other. Instead of peering at each other shyly, we would've teased, saying "Never trust a profile picture." After, we were going to travel back to Land of Evermore, have a picnic at Indian Lake, and go out to dinner. Our first date was 15 hours long.

But, as you might imagine, we did none of those things. I woke up to my favorite sight: him making me breakfast in the kitchen. Pancakes, which, like my Sim on Sims 3, are one of my favorite foods. They were delicious. After breakfast I left to do errands, and I took pains to drive the same route we had driven that same day, 3 years ago. Before I drove us to Land of Evermore, I took a detour to some stranger's house, where in their front yard, they had the most glorious poppies in bloom. Three years ago, L watched with amusement while I laid on the ground, photographing the red flower's underbellies against the sky. This year, a genuine smile jumped on my face and I recognized the feeling of bliss. The poppies were in bloom again, and I swear I could see us there, in that stranger's yard, full of anticipation and wonder.

That afternoon we spent an hour hugging, and yes, I mean literally hugging; when I would try to get up, he would pull me back down for more hugs. We were giddy with each other. It was absolutely disgusting, like that time in middle school I bought a block of fudge on Monroe Street and ate the whole thing. So sweetly revolting.

L humored me by agreeing to visit Olbrich Gardens, beautifully landscaped lands free to the public. We took each others picture; I learned he likes to read informative plaques like the ones at zoos and museums. Afterwards we had dinner at our favorite Nepali restaurant, and spent the rest of the evening quietly enjoying ourselves.

Oh, the bloody nose? Came at the end of the evening. I share a lot with the internet, more than I probably should, but this is not a story I can share with you. I do have some modesty. I think you know where I'm going with this. So yes, he ended the day with tissue up his nostrils and I could barely look at him I was so embarrassed. But I suppose it's fitting, one of us inflicting pain on the other: without it, it wouldn't have been a true L and Rachel day.

Poppy

Poppy, originally uploaded by Person. Place. Thing..

Poppy

Poppy, originally uploaded by Person. Place. Thing..

30 Day Shred in Bed

Friday night, L and I went to "Indie Queer" night (just an awesome name for a big dance party) at the Majestic theatre. He had to work at 7 a.m. Saturday morning so he wasn't too thrilled about dancing like fools until 2, but he did it. When he sent me a text the next morning about how tired he was, I felt bad. And then I fell back asleep until 12. But when I woke up, I decided to make him dinner. This has never happened before in our 3 year relationship (Our anniversary is next Thursday, June 4th if you'd like to send a gift). I'll warm him up a can of soup rarely, sure, but in our house, the kitchen is his domain. Cooking was fun, though; everything went well and all was set out on the balconey for his return home. He came in and I said I had a surprise and the first thing he says is, "I hope it's not food because I'm not hungry." Instead of punching him in the face, or bursting into tears like my brain told me to do, I just said "Shut up" and brought him to the balconey. He was pleantly surprised, but didn't eat anything. Wouldn't you know that his co-worker's girlfriend had brought almost the EXACT meal--down to the lemonade!--into his office that afternoon.(bitch). He ate one bite while I shoveled my portion in my mouth while glaring at him, hoping an asteroid would convienently land on his eyeball.

After the dishes were cleared he told me he had a surprise for me, too. "But," he said, "You have to promise you won't get mad." Uh, yeah, right. Doesn't he know me at all? He brought me into the bedroom and there on the screen was a full download of Jillian Michael's "30 Day Shred" DVD. Again, I couldn't decide which words to pick: "Thank you," or, "I want to murder you." Nothing like cooking your boyfriend a lovely meal only for him to basically say, "Here: I think you're fat!"

I knew he was just trying to be nice, and earlier in the week I did mention that I had wanted to buy the video after hearing so much about it in the Bloglantic Ocean. So, I didn't murder him. We did however, decide to watch "30 Day Shred" while resting in bed. Yes, our bellies full of pasta, we reclined in bed and watched 3 women with probably 3% body fat combined, work their butts off. "That looks hard," I think I said once.

Well what do you know, it IS hard. I know this since I just completed day one 30 minutes ago. I can see why it's a popular program: I feel more sore and "worked out" after that 20 minute episode than I do working out alone at the gym for an hour (when was the last time that happened?). I'll be out of town a couple weekends this month, so I can't do 30 days straight, but I hope to do it as often as I can. Although, seeing as L has ALREADY nagged me about doing it, and we haven't had the damn DVD for 24 hours yet, I might give up all together. There are few things more aggravating, and well, insulting, than your boyfriend nagging you to work out. That's a deal breaker, ladies!

Book Days

The book I'm reading now, "Through Painted Deserts" by Donald Miller, was purchased with the hopes that it would prepare me for my upcoming drive to California in September. This is the second book I've read by Miller, the first, "Blue Like Jazz," a book I often claim as my favorite. His prose slows me down. The way he writes dialogue takes away all the extraneous emotion between to people and bares it all down to simple connection. Same with the earth. After I read a chapter, I think less about where I need to go or what I need to buy. I wouldn't say it lends me a concetration on simplicity, because I don't concentrate on it at all--there's no work involved. Just the simple pleasure of being.

I still have about two weeks before I start my full time summer jobs (I'll be working with kids, again). I'm reading whatever I want, as long as I want, and waking up whenever. This time reminds me of how I spent my childhood summer breaks. When I was a kid we had a full sized couch on our front porch, and every day I would lie on that couch and read a book from the time I got up until dinner. And every day the same neighbor would walk past with his dog and ask what I was reading. Each day it was a different book. I must of been in middle school. You couldn't describe a better day--a better bliss--than those days.

Yes, these days I'm all about slowing down. Enjoying meals with L. Cleaning the apartment. My new computer has certainly helped me slow down. Now that I have a desktop versus a laptop, I find I'm on it less. I'll wake up and have my computer time, but won't turn it back on until evening. Back when I used my laptop, I sat in bed and recycled through the same sites all day. Literally all day. This desktop doesn't suck me in as much, allows me to remember that the computer is just an activity and not where life is based. My body does not require an electrical outlet.

Soon, full time work begins and I will push all these ideas of slowness out. Life will go faster, and that's maybe for the best. Too much rest and I'd forget how lovely it is just to watch the light change through the clouds. But for now, so it goes.