the sun is out

To the sound of a CD starting in my alarm clock at the foot of my bed, my day begins. Eyes half closed and clutching the blankets, I reach over my head to pull the shade and see what the sky has to say. Sometimes it's grey, a bleak half-brightness that turns me under the sheets for five more eyes-closed minutes. And sometimes it's sun and warmth, drawing me up and out and on with life. I am ready to move; I am ready to breathe the air outside. Times like these of such unassumed energy, I want to thank the World for something magical I've been awarded. But maybe it was me all along, who knew this heat and happiness. Maybe I made it, and could honor myself and the sun. Maybe a quiet pride would be okay.

scars to prove it

If this could not fall to bad timing, or our own malfunctions, wouldn't that be the proper ends? For all my careful planning, I cannot see past my own misplaced musings. Even these reassuring thoughts are surely over-saturation, when patience must mean moving on. Her constant influence has always been surprise. Still she shakes me with so much sense to trump my emotional enchantment. Maybe writing this down will tell me that I am in no place to make my claims. I am as fucked in the head as the rest of us.

life after vacation

Last week I took my first non-Christmastime vacation from RingSide. I had accrued so many vacation hours that if I didn't take time off when I did, I was going to stop earning more. It just goes to show how long overdue it was. My plans were simple: stay home and do nothing.

Of course it couldn't be completely nothing, but I definitely succeeded in relaxing and relieving myself of obligations. The biggest event of the entire week was seeing Spoon at the Royal Oak Music theater on Tuesday. Sarah was supposed to go with me, but broke her kneecap and was stuck in the hospital. I went on my own and tried to enjoy the show without her. More than half of the setlist was non-Transference, and I even took out my phone and noted the songs they played. I intended to burn a CD of all the songs, but with the encore their show was almost an hour and a half!

Wednesday I donated blood for the first time since I got my tattoo. I talked to one of the ladies about moving to Ferndale for my work, and how it distracted me from giving blood regularly like I used to. She told me about the health benefits of getting rid of old blood so your body can replenish it with new, and that made a lot of sense to me. Thursday the Ferndale Bike Club had a pre-season ride in the evening. As the Junior Ambassador, I am getting better at striking up conversation with strangers and not being so afraid of what they think of me. We rode for an hour or so around the Ferndale/Oak Park neighborhood, had dinner at the Emory and afterwards went to Liz's where we put together a calendar of rides with specific dates. Friday I went to Somerset and bought myself a new sweatshirt that I'm going to stencil with the Bike Club logo and at night went with my friend Cori and her friend to Cliff Bell's to see some live jazz. There was a great trio that plays the first Friday of every month, and they had a lady join them to sing on some songs. She sang three Frank Sinatra covers, and that was pretty cool. Saturday Alex and I drove out west to stay at our parent's for the weekend. Beforehand we went to Briarwood and hung out for a while before Kenny got off work and then hung out with him at his apartment. We met up with Ben later that night after the MSU game and played pool at Sticks in Depot Town.

Sunday my mom cooked Easter dinner and my Dad's sister and her husband and my Mom's sister came over. After eating we played dominoes for a few hours. Alex decided to stay at his parent's an extra night so I came home and ended my vacation with a walk around the neighborhood and managed to get to sleep by 1:00.

Today was a pretty great first day back. I can tell that having time off did me a lot of good... and, seeing as we had Good Friday off anyway, I used one less vacation day than I thought I was going to. I'm thinking of doing another week off again sometime this year.

the Spring began with cold

What caught me off-guard was how I did not feel like crying, it only came. At some moment everything she said was making sense, and I was not afraid anymore. She was fighting for us all along. We would have to learn how to be apart. We would find ourselves, first, before each other.

As she drove off with her friend, she left me with a sense of youthful naiveté; I was renewed and unsure of what these days would do to me. I turned on the music to a newfound energy. I was setting out, but where to go? and how to get there?

March showers bring April floods

I skim over poems when I read them, seeking answers in their brevity. Same as when I write; to the point and under the dust of cryptic words. Rhythm and melody as scribbles in ink: all similes and alliteration. Always my black notebook is poised for recording the next mixtape gem or life-altering moment maker. That path is already part of my past and it hearkens me to return. To fall at the feet of my own good ideas and believe they carry weight. Crying over my own sentiment only means I'm being self-indulgent. It was meant to be your happiness. I can convince myself, but I find that my heart's match may not be so easily persuaded. Or I am making substance from the breaths in our conversation, they hold hopes for only moments 'til we turn our tired eyes to opposite sides of the bedroom.

Moving on. Another shot at a catch phrase for finding love.

in like a very sunny lion

It was a warm Sunday in early March.

The night before I went out drinking with my roommate, Alex. We had intended to celebrate our friend Dan's birthday, but he took a last minute trip across the state and neglected to inform us. I was already two glasses and a shot of whiskey down when I found out, and it was his birthday after all, so I didn't mind much. I had been awake since 8:00 that morning so I could give Sarah a ride to work, and while I had braced for a long night, heading home to instant sleep in a few hours sounded wonderful. After I finished my first pint of beer we moved to another bar serving food. The jukebox skipped one of my favorite songs, and we chatted for an hour or so about this and that before I admitted how tired I was. We walked home, forgetting that the day's warmth was no longer with us. There was still a line of people outside Rose O' Grady's; I only shivered when we walked past them.

This morning I woke at 10:00 without an ounce of a hangover. I made some coffee and sat in bed reading the book Julie let me borrow last year that I've been trying to finish. Alex had asked me to wake him up at 11:00 so we could get breakfast, but remembered that his mom was taking him to lunch. I made myself an egg sandwich and opened all the windows of the living room. I lit some incense and let the sound of the birds mingle with Tape's Rideau. This is how I wake myself on weekends. Welcoming the day and being thankful for all its hours offer. Afterwards was breathing in the practically-spring air; taking a first jog of the year and helping Sarah make a poster for her uncle's candle business.

Tomorrow will be warmer, and that is something magical. Something undefinable and out of reach. Like the way a woman's long skirt sways as she walks: her hips swinging with the melody of the sunshine. She does not look at me, I am simply in awe. At that moment she is above our human feelings, out of any love she might feel and only embraced by the Day for how she moves. Even if she turns to see me staring, and smiles, we are not connected. I believe in that moment it is the joy of living that shines on her face. A radiance I am in no league with, and must sit in silent appreciation of, because it will be gone when she speaks.

thank you, February

Thank you, February, for flying by. In recent years, you have stuck around like ice on my car in a snowstorm. An even four weeks of misery and shivering and chattering my teeth at every stoplight on my way to work. No schedule could be busy enough to distract me from the bleak white outside the forced-air heat of the office where I work. When I wrap myself in scarves and make my way home for the evening, you are cruel enough to shroud the sky with clouds. I am restless when I return, and wool sweaters are never enough to keep the winter air from reaching my bones and drying my skin and as I cling to a blanket, nursing a cup of tea. But this year, you let me peek out from under your cloak of cold depression and I discovered my own warmth outside the weather. Perhaps it was my old friend and new roommate, Alex, who kept me from setting myself into patterns of inactivity - simply with his presence. I sometimes hear him creaking the floorboards of the upstairs where he sleeps; a reminder hanging over my head indeed. Maybe new windows or a better heated house have insulated me from your torments, or a confidence in my career that has me far from being overwhelmed. I place my own appreciation in my new love. A woman who is so much more to me than a kiss and kind words, or a warm body sleeping beside me. Her tiny smiles and the way she holds her cats keep me eyes-closed and smiling as your wicked wind burns my face. Her songs are a part of my soundtrack, and I am dreaming of our summer together under warmer days than you would ever yield. I am complacent and lost in her eyes, while you are attempting to break her spell. Fruitless, February! This strength far outweighs the icicles on my awning, or the heavy snow you piled in my driveway. With every shovelful I am defying you. I feel a cozy company in the world I have drawn around me, with your dreary days as my unexpected ink. You are still not my favorite month, and I read far less books under your Sunday skies than I intended, but you are almost behind me. Good riddance! But thank you all the same, for growing me one more month.