ardent bullshit comes down every faultline gushing heavily into jest kindly luscious melons nodding openly post quakes resting still to undermind various wonderous xylophones yawning zealously

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

You're the Breath that Blows These Cools Winds 'Round

Monday evening I was having coffee with a couple gal pals when my phone rang. A number I recognize from my alma mater, good ol' Colorado State, was on the screen so I ignored it, assuming that they are calling for alumni donations. As much as I'd like to give toward scholarship, now is just not the time. And felt a twinge of guilt as I thought this, taking another bite of expensive cake.

Someday, I say to my cafe buddies. And immediately I thought of a woman who taught the last Spanish class I've taken. She wasn't someone you would describe as physically beautiful or even striking. I distinctly remember turning my nose up a little at the mullet-style haircut she rocked. She had a very gentle way about her, though. You could tell that she was weathered like a river rock. Smoothed over by uncontrollable forces until she was fluid, comfortable, and uniquely lovely.

One morning after class she and I were discussing something, I don't remember what, exactly. She looked toward me and said "this isn't the first time you've come to class and smelled like this, you know I used to smell like that a lot". The night before included copious amounts of whiskey. Not unlike many nights during that time in my life. Her manner of noting this was not harsh or accusatory, rather concerned. I immediately got defensive and said I was fine, physically brushing it off.

And that was all she ever said about it.

Years later, I vividly remember that particular morning, despite my hazy mental condition at the time. For a couple months now I've been thinking about contacting her. Not to toot my stupid horn about finally getting my shit together but to thank her. Urge her to continue talking to students she finds might need help. Because it matters and has helped me, even if the change didn't take immediately.

Yesterday I called up the Spanish Department and explained, loosely, my situation. That I wished to send a letter to a teacher, whose name I couldn't remember, thanking her for the seemingly small but realistically immense impact she had and how much she unknowingly helped me. The woman on the other end knew exactly who I was talking about and said that Amanda, that is her name, was a help to many people. But I couldn't send her a letter because she died three years ago.

We talked for a minute or two more. The kind admin, explaining that Amanda hadn't received the lung transplant she needed and moved back to Honduras to rest. Me, profusely thanking the woman for information and understanding. But it felt like a million hours, holding back tears. Once off the phone, I sat in my office while warm release streamed down my face. But not of sadness or sorrow. I felt so grateful and blessed to have experienced Amanda's energy and be able to hold it with me still.

I would have loved to gush thank yous to Amanda. Sincerely give gratitude to someone who touched my life in a way few have or could. I have faith that she knew how much she helped people. That she was one of those special beings who, despite their enormous impact, humbly accepted their roles in life and inspired others without desiring credit or gratification.

Thank you, Amanda. Your compassion and love for others will forever live in and spread from those of us who had the good fortune to know you in the physical realm and be affected by you in the spiritual one.


Monday, April 18, 2011

Marathon Monday

Happy Marathon Monday!! It's almost noon and I'm sitting still in jammies, having cleaned my bathroom and did two loads of laundry. These chores were originally intended for earlier this weekend but the universe had other, much more fun, plans for me.

So I'm sitting on my couch, enjoying the screams and shouts for the runners right outside my window. I have the good fortune of living right on the marathon path. The energy of the crowd is felt through the walls and I can't help but smile. It's nice to feel that energy again. To be able to feel anything again.

The past couple weekends I've spent out of town and it wore me out. I'm a creature of habit. I like my habits. I like doing homework on Friday or Saturday nights. It's nice. I feel grounded.

And I love days off. It's like extra time to relax. Which, a year ago, I couldn't handle. There was no relaxing. Especially not when I had to be by myself. In my own head. Last night I attempted to explain that a shift happened late last year. There's no way of pinpointing the exact date or time. But at some point, I grew fond of myself. And now need it. If I don't have enough time to take baths and lounge around I get restless and irritable. Never would I guess that this is how I'd feel.

Speaking of's daytime bathtime! What a treat!!!


Tuesday, April 05, 2011


Want to know how long I hoped someone would feel that way about me? That they would never meet another like me?

Answer: a long fucking time.

In a few long-short months I could not agree more with the crosser-outerer. And boy am I ever grateful for that.

This picture is from my friend, Courtney's, blog. She is a rad chick. One of those people you meet & are like "we are going to be good friends for a long time". Like Mandy, too. And Mandie. And Meridith. And Lisa. And a whole lot of other ladies who are such an integral part of my life. There are some boys, too. But very few.

No, I'm not coming out. I am sure I like dudes. As much as I have the best times sometimes with my girls, at the end of the day, well you know (wink wink...insert penis [joke?]).

But these relationships I have with other women are so fulfilling and delightful and they help me to be confident in myself. I can tell you lady friends are fucking hot mother fuckers. And so ridiculously intelligent. And clever. And caring. They are seriously the best people I've met on the planet.

And they're patient enough with me to listen to the bashful gushing I've done over the past two days regarding a certain boy who happens to look like Dermot Mulroney pulling me in for a sweet kiss, ending with our fingers lingering toward each other as we parted on a quiet street in the East Village this past weekend.