i love erik...

but i've still got a huge crush on jason...

lulls

last week i went out at courts. the winds were up and there were long lulls in between sets.

it wasn't the best day for surfing, but still it felt good to be out in the water. sitting. floating. with no other agenda, than waiting for the right wave, and hoping i'd get it.

i'm not the best at catching waves, and often, i let many go by because i'm not fast enough, not ready, or because i lack the confidence to be like eddie and just go. or sometimes i'm just plain scared. that being said, for as many waves that pass me by, there's always a few that seem to come my way, and there are those moments when it feels like the particular wave i'm lining up for, came just for me.

i love that feeling.

but back to lulls...

currently life feels like a big lull. i'm not sure where i'm going or what i'm doing. i feel like i'm floating. which doesn't feel bad, but i have a sense of anticipation stirring in my soul. as if there's something up ahead. i feel myself readying. and both fear and excitement softly murmur, though i silence them each time, because waiting for the unknown is like all things unknown. confusing and hard to rely on.

but i do get that sense that something's about to come my way. what it is, i have no idea. but it'll bring change. i can feel that much in my bones. a change i might fear, but need nonetheless.

when i surf, i don't always have the reflex and courage to catch the waves that follow the lull. often i get timid. shy. hesitant.

i surf the way i live life. clumsy, and without coordination. wanting something, but backing down. then wishing i had gone. then promising the next time. and so on.

maybe this feeling is just a feeling. a nothing that i'm making something out of. soon to pass and be forgotten. but maybe it's a premonition. and if so, i'm hoping i'll have the courage to grab it, the coordination to ride it and the appreciation that always brings a big smile to face, whenever i'm falling into/riding whatever it is that life brings my way and feels especially meant for me.

What Goes Up Must Come Down- A lesson in Chinese Porn

There's a line in the song Roller Coaster by Kimya Dawson that goes - "My mom says I hope someday you get paid for being Kimya Dawson."

My mom has never told me that, but it's something I often wish. That I could just get paid for being me. Or more specifically, that I could get paid for writing what I write- these whimsical, poorly edited, self exposing blogs. Like Martin Luther King Jr, I have a dream, perhaps not as noble of a dream, but it's a secret dream that one day people somewhere out there might happen across my blogs, ignore the grammar issues and the fact that most of this stuff is not final draft quality, and like what I write. Really like it. Like it so much, they say

More! More! Just as you are. No need to market yourself, no need to learn how to refine your writing; just write! All we want is for you to write, and if you do that, we'll tell you we like it, and we'll even pay you.

The dream actually goes further than my need for money and daily ego strokes. In that dream, there will be something in my words that these people connect to, that feeds them. Food for the soul. Food for the tortured, lost, but hopeful soul perhaps- and those that have an appreciation for that type of soul. In this particular dream of mine, my writing will bring to others that very same indescribable feeling that I feel when I read something catches me in some form or fashion.

And so, to get back to the title of this blog, I was beginning to feel that maybe (a long shot maybe, but still a maybe) the dream was beginning. In the past few months, I've had a new audience of Chinese readers leaving cryptic comments, mostly in Chinese characters followed by way too many ellipses. At first I ignored them, but then I got curious and began google translating their words, which were often proverbial in nature- We're too old too fast, but smart too late.....................; Smiling and happy every day..................; Bless you popular not diminished.....................


I found their comments confusing but I figured it might be a cultural thing and so, I deemed myself not quite smart enough to comprehend, but certainly grateful enough to appreciate their attention. And in reading their comments, I found my spirits going up, my ego nicely stroked and that feeling of "they like me, they like my writing!" coming forward and wondering if maybe the Chinese people really get me.

That was of course until I received a comment that was a direct link to Chinese porn. And suddenly it clicked that maybe there was something fishy about all these other Chinese comments. And so, I googled "Chinese comments on blogger," and found that the extended ellipses at the end of each comment was not just a fondness for that certain punctuation, but rather a hidden link to even more Chinese porn.

Bah!

So while pervy Chinese porn lovers' libidos go up,  down goes my inflated ego and the feeling of a dream being fulfilled.

I suppose it's for the best. While I've always loved the Chinese for their culinary-able-to-eat-anything skills, there is so much I don't know about them, and I'm sure sooner or later I would have done something culturally offensive, possibly been black-listed and maybe perhaps even sought out by the Chinese mafia (if there is a Chinese mafia). I suppose it's safer this way.

So the dream lives on. And on. And on.................................................................

Crutches

I remember once consoling a friend who had made her decision to end her marriage. She told me she didn't feel she had the right to be sad, as she was the one who left. I supportively argued back that she had every right to be sad, for no matter who holds the knife, when two people cut away from each other, they both bleed.


I also remember my dad, once comparing my mom to his arm. She had been away on a trip and he was having trouble sleeping without her. He told me that my mom was like a limb, and that when she was gone, he felt her presence missing, not just in the house, but in his own body. He seemed, almost to ache as he said it.


And finally, I remember my brother, once injuring his leg. It wasn't any type of injury that required an amputation, but it was enough to wind him up in crutches for a period of time. Causing him to need something to lean on and support himself while his limbs healed up.


I think often, once a relationship ends, it may feel as if something's been amputated, or at very least, badly injured, and many of us may feel the need for a crutch. Something to hold onto. Something to hold us up. It's not to say we wouldn't be able to get along without it, it's just to say there'd be a whole lot more wobbling without it, and more periods of noticeable acute pain. With a crutch, the pain still exists, the lack of mobility is still there, it's just slightly less bad.

Some of us find these crutches in vices and distractions. In spending one's self. This may include going out every night and tossing back a few that equal to several. Filling every moment of space with busyness. Going, going, going and trying not to stop, or even slow down, as to keep the mind and aching heart distracted.

Others of us find these crutches in people. Often finding a temporary somebody to fill a space they cannot possibly fill, but in which we'll try to fill them with nonetheless. Because even if it's not enough to stop the heartache, it's something. And there is comfort in having someone to lay down with. In having someone who's beating heart can be felt, when our own hearts have ceased to know how to go on. I think often, we may not even be aware that we use these people for such reasons, we just know we need someone near and grab hold to what we can.

I have in the past used both types of crutches. Something I'm not proud of, but not necessarily ashamed of either.

And sometimes, I've forgone the crutch to find myself bedridden. Trapped under covers. Hiding out from the pain of a love, like, lust, whatever that once was, and became no more.

But somewhere along my need for crutches, I've found one I hope to never give up. Somewhere through the trials and tribulations of living life. Of falling, again and again; I turned to writing to hold me together and help me get through the pain. And once I started, I couldn't seem to stop. Every heart pang I felt went down in words. In poems or blogs. Writing was something I didn't sleep with, but rather that came to me in my dreams, woke me in the middle of the night and called to me. Something that made me throw myself, my feelings, my experiences on to paper or computer screen. Somehow it made the pain into something, even if ugly and raw, almost pretty in the right light.

I think some crutches can turn into prosthetics... No longer merely metal and rubber to grab onto each time we rise, but rather something we strap to us and wear, not to take off unless to swim, shower or sleep. The drinking at the bar each night becomes an addiction, a way of life. The bed buddy we used to soften the blow of our latest fall becomes less buddy and instead, turns into a boyfriend or girlfriend.


And I think some prosthetics turn into those titanium limbs... the ones that screw into your leg, fuse to the bone, and become inseparable. Become a part of you that will not be removed, unless of course, ripped savagely from the body or surgically abstracted.

Some crutches, grow into us. Become a part of us.


And though I write less than I used to, I would like to hope that writing is to me like titanium is to bone. Fused. A part of me. No longer there to ease my aches, but rather, just there.