Death, Dreams and all that In Between

Death: Two deaths occurred in my life this week: our oldest dog, who has been nothing but a joyful pleasure in my life… and someone who has brought nothing but painful torture to my life. One of them is in a better place… the other, I believe, is facing their “final judgment,” explaining to the “man upstairs” all the reasons why they caused grief in my life (or at least, that is what I am telling myself). I did not cry over either death: first, because death is a part of life; and second, because both were for the best (for reasons already covered). Death is such a strange phenomenon, because those who are affected are the living.

Dreams: I’m not talking about those strange images you have while you are asleep… that’s a completely different discussion, filled with assumptions of what it means to be chased by gigantic white bunnies or be eaten alive by blood sucking ladybugs. I am referring to “tomorrow.” Isn’t that what a dream is? Isn’t the idea of what may happen tomorrow, or what you want to happen tomorrow, the very basis of a dream? The definition of a dream (dictionary.com) is an aspiration; goal; aim. See, it is, in a sense, the future and what you want the future to be like. Do you think that people who believe in predestination, also have dreams? Maybe if they do, they would be more accurately referred to as “hopes.” The definition of “hope” is to look forward to with desire and reasonable confidence. I told you.
One has to begin to wonder if dreams are the substance of life. If you lived your life without them, what would you have to look forward to tomorrow? Although, another way to look at it… if you stopped dreaming and just started living for today… well, you sure would have to be happy about what was happening in the moment, wouldn’t you? I want to be happy about the moment.

And all that In Between: Now, life gets filled with the stuff that happens between dreams and death. For some – what happens in between will be those dreams coming true. For others – the in between will be spent either dreaming about tomorrow or fearing the end result. I, for one, want for a lot of things in the in between (sure does sound like a dream, huh). Above all, I want to enjoy all the things in between… and that is hard to do. The in between things are paying bills, working, cleaning, worrying about paying the bills, worrying about working, and so on. I want to buy a hut with Lane, in a really small village on an island – or maybe, a villa in another country – or land in Alaska where there is a one traffic light and quiet time. I want to write, I want to be, I want to dream… and find the time to live out some of those dreams. I want to consume all of the in between that I can… and enjoy every tasty morsel of it. Death doesn’t scare me, as much as dreams do… death is almost easier than the dreams, because you have NO control over death – but dreams, they are always pushing on your shoulders and filling up the stuff “in between.”

Desperation Rears Its Ugly Head

Sometimes life throws you a curve ball... sometimes it throws you a big concrete brick... and when you really aren't ready - it shoots a bullet straight into your chest. And the pain is so deep you can't breathe or see or hear or put logical thoughts together. You can see the world continue on around you... but you can't quite put it in its place. I've heard about these feelings... I've even watched friends and family members describe this pain. But, until you go through it... I mean really go through it... you can't even imagine. I will never again utter the words "I know how you feel." I will never again tell someone "it's going to get better." I won't say, "You'll be fine." Next time, when someone describes these feelings to me... I am going to stop, and listen, and wrap my arms around them and tell them I would do anything to make it all go away. I will know that I can't... they will know that I can't... but I will never, ever say those stupid things we've all said.
I'm dizzy from the spinning that is going on in my head - because of the spinning that has been going on in my life. Why is it that one day... you wake up. You go through the same daily motions, stop by the same coffee shop, drive the same route to work, make the same phone calls... and all the while, you have no idea that this day is about to change everything you have ever known. How is it that you never know when it will be the last time you say "I love you" to someone... or the last time you say it to them and mean it the same way you did the day before. How is it that you will never know the last time you sleep in your bed... or the last time it will feel the same way it did the day before. How is it that the house you've lived in for five years and the life you've made with the person you once cared so deeply about is a memory and no longer a reality... and it seems to happen in a matter of a second.
Desperation has reared its ugly head and I'm in a nightmare. And although I am sure I know somewhere deep inside me that it will "all be ok"... I need a minute to be really sad, really mad, and really desperate... because right now, in this moment, it sure doesn't feel like it will be!

Almost

Almost
Music And Lyrics By Cheryl Wheeler

I'm almost everything you have ever wanted
I'm almost your best dream come true
We fit so perfectly
Oh I almost can't believe
How I'm almost all I need to be

There's something now in your smile
Just this side of distant
And something else just that side of true
This road's so old and worn from
The countless nights I've sworn
Oh I could be all you'd need me to
Almost

I don't know where to go
To find our missing pieces
I sit and stare and wonder where to start
But then I look at you
And I know it can't be true
That something's here pulling us apart

Some days I wonder how we'll walk this line
Some days I think I feel your heart in mine
Well underneath the surface
Love isn't ever perfect - heaven knows
So we'll just close that door
Almost

I’m almost many things… I’m almost a mother (as I didn’t actually give birth to my 2 year old dog, Daisy), I’m almost a wife (although, in a short while – I will no longer be), I’m almost a writer (if this blog counts at all), I’m almost a college graduate (but it feels like it’s taking forever). I’m almost a daughter (but, to my mom, I’m more like a friend). I’m almost famous and almost honest and almost pretty and almost whole. I’m almost a dreamer. I’m almost a believer – in many things. I’m almost so many little things I want to be in my relationship… but, I’m almost removed completely. I’m almost lost… sometimes in my dreams, sometimes in my mind, sometimes in my thoughts, sometimes in my heart… and I’m almost 32.
Check out Cheryl Wheeler (better yet, if you get a chance to see her live – do it)!!

Inspired by Tim O’Brien’s “The Things They Carried”….

These are the things I carry…. I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders and my feelings on my sleeve. I carry my best friend’s newborn baby and carry the desire to have one of my own. I carry the fear of not having one and the fear of what it would do to my life, if I did. I carry a Prada bag, when I am really lucky, and Dior sunglasses on a hot, sunny Georgia day. I carry extra pounds because there was a time in my life when I was emotionally starving. I carry my parents divorce and what it did (and still does) to my mother. I carry my brother and future sister-in-law’s wedding plans and the hope that it will be the most perfect day in the world. I carry memories of past relationships and all the effects from those relationships. I carry books, because I am in school, and because I love to read. I carry words in my mind that haven’t found a place on the page. I carry secrets and dreams… others and my own. I carry expectations of myself and expectations of others, all the while trying to carry the realization that I shouldn’t expect anything from others that I, myself, can’t give. I carry the hope that I will be an actor, singer, dancer, painter, writer – and carry the realization that I AM a dreamer. I carry my Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, Daisy, but only so far – ‘cause she’s getting to be a big girl. I carry other people’s expectations of me: lose weight, smile, be this or be that. I carry with me the moment I first laid eyes on Grace and how her precious little fingers barely wrapped around my gigantic hand. I carry memories of the first time I met my best friend. I carry memories of the millions of notes we wrote to one another in high school and now, I carry the phone because our notes have turned into hour long phone conversations. I carry a rum and diet coke a lot. More often, I carry a Starbucks Iced Venti Non-Fat 4 pump mocha. I carry words my father says to me every time we talk, “I’m so proud of you.” I carry the fear that he won’t always be. I carry the burning desire to be a great writer. I carry a notebook, just in case that moment happens when I am least expecting it. I carry someone else’s heart and the fear that comes with the responsibility of it. I carry a sick addiction to shopping and the desire to obtain more “stuff.” And then, I carry the guilt for having stuff I don’t need, so I carry it away. I carry the hope that one day, I will know why I am here and what I am suppose to do with my life. I carry a dream I have had since I was a child about driving around and around Disney World unable to find my way out. I carry the idea that I know what that dream means and I carry the terrifying reality of it. I carry my future, tucked neatly away, always reminding me it is there – but never truly revealing itself. I carry my past, more clearly present, affecting me equally. I carry, not even a millionth as much as those soldiers carried in “The Things They Carried.” But, I still carry.

I wish I was a rockstar...

I wish I was… having a drink at the 19th hole, free enough to write at 3am when I can’t stop the creative juices from clouding my sleepy mind, smart enough to answer at least ONE freaking jeopardy question, hot enough to be in Playboy (or young enough or skinny enough or sexy enough or all the other “enough’s” it takes to be in Playboy), a cast member on Big Brother, a mom, rich enough to spend a week partying in Las Vegas or a month locked away in a cabin in the mountains – doing nothing but writing, reading and thinking about all the things I wish I was, a talk show host like Oprah with a hairstylist and makeup artist and an entire audience hanging on my every word, on the View so I could see if being on the show would help me understand what in the world they are all talking about when they decide to carry on 14 conversations at one time, thirteen again and my mom was taking me clothes shopping for the new school year, young enough to not have to worry about so many “adult” things, old enough not to care about them, the owner of a house on West Paces Ferry (yea, I really do), a runner or an athlete and I could participate in the Breast Cancer 3 day, living in a studio apartment in downtown Seattle, an actor – I really would like to be an actor, a singer – not just any singer – but a pop star or rock star and I could get on stage and people would yell and scream for me, Prince’s girlfriend or even just friend or even just acquaintance, still in my twenties and I could stay out all night drinking with friends and go to work with one hour sleep and feel fine all day, a celebrity famous enough that designers would send me free stuff – just so I would wear it, taller – like 5’10” or so, a suburban soccer mom (is that weird??), a superhero with powers to remove stupid drivers from 285 (specifically 18 wheelers who think they are corvette drivers), gutsy enough to tell retail associates with attitudes (ONLY those with attitudes) to go *&$^# themselves, maybe a superhero with the power to eat all the chocolate cake and ice cream in the world without gaining a pound (oooh, and donuts, too), a writer for a hip woman’s magazine like Cosmo, Miranda Priestly (Devil Wears Prada), focused enough to write a book (maybe, one day), mature enough to know what I want to do with the rest of my life, free enough to not have to know, strong enough to follow what is in my heart, and better about keeping up this damn blog.

Remember my name - you'll be screaming it later

Once you reach the age of 30, Myspace should be deemed inappropriate behavior. However, its like a horrible train wreck and you find yourself up late at night (after many, many, many drinks) peeping into other people's lives. Its like 21st century drunk calling... nothing good ever comes of it. And your best friends mom wants to make and sell "I lost my parents to Myspace.com" onesies.
Now, its 2006 and I'm just getting started. I still think "tom" jokes are funny... and the fact that I only have three friends makes me laugh so hard I could throw up. The strange thing is that it's like a terrible drug... it sucks you in and you find yourself seriously feeling bad about yourself BECAUSE you only three friends. I mean, are you serious? Sometimes I feel so old... and then sometimes (like at 2am, looking up OLD boyfriends) I feel like I never made it past 18. (T - does this mean we still have a chance to fulfill our fantasty lives) Can I go back in time and snort coke off a rockstars ass for my Real World audition tape? Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and realize "Sugar" wasn't just a dream of mine (or a late, late night conversation with a friend).
In an instant, with a quick click on the "log out" button or when someone tells you to "upload" something and it makes you want to shoot yourself in the head because it sounds so ridiculous - you are shoved back into reality. But then, I think... while I'm sleeping on my 1500 thread count sheets, after a long day of riding around in my BMW convertible, after shopping at Phipps Plaza between the iced venti non-fat mochas, and I drive down the driveway to my 5000 sq foot custom built home... I have to wonder... is this reality really that bad???

“I'm very important. I have many leather-bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany.”

Lets take a moment and talk about the past Isnt the past a funny thing? While it is happening, you cant imagine the day you will sit back and try to recall it. You cant imagine that the moments will one day be a memory tucked neatly inside the depths of your mind the emotions that feel so real, so raw at the time will be distant glimpses of a world left behind. Its like a night out with friends that youve spent hours getting ready for picking out the perfect pair of Jimmy Choos and the Nanette Lepore t-shirt you have been dying to match with the best looking pair of 7 jeans you can find in your closet. And then you end up wasted on the floor of some dirty bar bathroom, with your head in the toilet and your best friend screaming, Dont ruin the choos. At the time, it seems like it will never be behind you only slap you in the face over and over and over again, until you are faithfully committed to a life of never drinking again if only the power above would make the pain go away. You wake up the next morning wondering what in the world possessed you to have 12 rum and diet cokes, instead of a reasonable number, like 10. The world appears to be a little blurry and you cant remember if the guy you made out with last night is the one laying next to you in bed or some random stranger you will never see again. The past its a moment in time that feels like forever and then poof it is gone. Sometime it changes us (ok, next weekend Ill only have 10 _ drinks) and sometimes it rolls off your shoulders like a bad hair day or the day you step on the scale and it reads 1lb. heavier than the day before and you could have sworn you only drank two non-fat mochas (they were NON-FAT, after all.) But, sometimes our past has a way of changing us forever. The moment you lay your eyes on someone and at that moment, you already know they have changed your life. Or the girlfriend you know is a temporary existence in your life but, at the time, felt like youd be best friends forever. Maybe its not the past that affects us so greatly, but the people we have met in our past. The brief amount of time that people have come into our lives, made us who we are, and then, in an instance, left us just as quickly. Ive always said that the biggest moments are the ones that happen in an instant, like 9/11 or the minute a child is born. They arent moments that go on and on and on they are brief seconds in our lives. Those moments make the greatest impact they are the moments that move us from one chapter to the next. Often times, we dont even know it is happening. Often it isnt something as drastic as 9/11 instead it is the guy who your friend introduces you to and you fall in love with immediately. Or its the co-worker who you never noticed, until one day you are best friends and laughing so hard you cant remember a time when they werent in your life. Those are the seconds that count they are the seconds that hurt the most, feel the best the moments you laugh the hardest, cry the deepest but that stay with you, forever.I remember when I couldnt handle the past. I couldnt deal with people that hurt me, turned on me, or showed me who they were and they werent who I thought. But, then you hit a certain age (or a certain level of maturity) and you start appreciating your past. You start to love the people youve met, the people that change you forever and make you who you have become. I love that when I close my eyes I remember the taps on my window in the middle of the night from the love of my life (at the time) when I was just a kid and I smile, sometimes giggle. Or the silly trips to Blockbuster with my greatest friend (who I never thought wouldnt be in my life) and even though weve gone our separate ways I can appreciate what that time in my life did for me. I love what people (and relationships) teach you, what they offer you even when they have no idea. Above all I love that they are my past

Anyone in the market for a used "boyfriend"... I mean, car...

So when I was 17 years old (I know, that was a lifetime ago) I fell in love with a brand new car. It was beautiful. It was fully-loaded. And from the outside it appeared to be the coolest, best looking vehicle around. I remember when I got the car people would ask, "Are you the one that owns that car that everyone wants?" A girl came into the store where I was working and told me that she used to drive the same car, and then quickly informed me that everyone has driven it. Stupid, Bitch, must have just been jealous...
I loved that car and always said I would never love a car the way I loved that one. I was so blinded by the way it looked on the outside; I never considered how much trouble it would bring me. And trouble it brought. It was completely unreliable. So many people admired and loved the car I rarely got to see it. It only seemed to work late at night or when IT wanted to but I loved that damn car.
A few years go by and I leave for college. And the government apparently needed the car, so I gave it up (or it left me, I cant remember). After all, who needs a car when they are in college, right? And then the funniest thing happened - I came home from college the next summer and found another car. It was completely different from my first car. It wasn't as beautiful on the outside, in fact it wasnt even my kind of car. It was a pickup truck... and I hate pickup trucks. But, the truck sure was reliable and one of the most comfortable vehicles I've ever been in. No one really wanted the truck, so I never had to worry about it being stolen, and it never needed work. I fixed the truck up on the outside a little bit, but eventually started to appreciate how it looked and found myself caring a great deal about it. I loved the truck...
But as the saying goes, "the grass is always greener..." And one day, while driving down the road, I saw the car I had originally fallen in love with and I couldn't stop thinking about it. I don't know why; I knew it had given me a lot of trouble in the past, but I just couldn't help it. So, I set out to get rid of the truck I was driving and get the original car back. I took my best friend, at the time, to go see the car. After all, I needed to show it off and wanted to get her final approval. But, I turned my back for just a minute, and the next thing I know my friend is driving off in MY CAR. "SHUT UP," your saying, but that is the truth.
I get back in the truck and drive it for as long as I can. But one day, I see my EX-best friend driving around in my car and I can't take it anymore. I sell the truck, pack up my stuff, and leave town.
Fast forward to today... I found a picture of my original car online (oh, the internet what an amazing invention). And if I didn't absolutely adore the car I am currently driving so much, I am sure I would've been sad for a minute that it wasn't my car. But, despite my currently perfect relationship with the car I am driving, I still wanted to know who was driving the car I had loved for so long. And guess what.. I don't know who is driving that car but, I DID find out who is driving my old truck

Ready? My EX-BEST FRIEND!!!

Moral of the story: Be aware of Best Friends who are actually used car-dealers in disguise. And I am keeping a close eye on my current car, because apparently this friend of mine can't find a damn car of her own!! Anyone see the movie, Single White Female??? My thoughts exactly!!

TC's 19th Hole

If you are a golf, you are familar with the 19th hole... if you aren't, it doesn't really matter. Honestly, neither am I. But, my dad, brother, grandfather, uncle, etc. are golfers and The 19th Hole has always been a familar term growing up. I can only imagine the men, after a long day of slicing, missed putts, and sandtrap shots, joining together in the bar for a few drinks and conversations revolving around analysis of their game-playing. I imagine my grandfather telling my grandmother than he and his buddies got caught up on the 19th hole... thinking my grandmother would mistake that for the last hole in the round... when really, she knew all along that it meant he was sharing amazing golf stories over a few rounds of scotch. I imagine my dad taking my brother to the 19th hole for the first time... like an initiation into the world of "golfers." Like a dad tells his son about sex or watches him drive off in a car for the first time or when he has a child of his own... in my family, the 19th hole was just as special and just as traditional, as all of the rest. Because I tend to blog about my life (and usually after several drinks)... I thought it only appropriate to name it "The 19th Hole." No, I am not a golfer... but I love a place to go, where I can get away from the world, share my stories, sip on a rum & diet coke... and confess... just like my grandfather, dad, brother, and uncle have done for years and years. So... if anyone asks - I'm at the 19th hole and I'll be home soon.