I'm okay with that. pt. III

I did something all by myself.

I didn't plan to do it alone but on that day, roughly three weeks ago; it seemed like a good thing to try. Once it was all said and done, I wasn't sure if I did it right.

What the hell? I mean, what's the worst that could happen?

I could go to jail? Highly unlikely. Then again knowing my luck...

Nearly a month later and I can tell you the good news is, I wasn't arrested. I did it right.

I'm free.

However, the 2,765.00 I planned to get back from my 2010 tax return was not as lucky and unfortunately, it was apprehended by the Oklahoma Student Loan ASSociation. I use the word apprehend but allow me to face the fact: The money went back to OSLA because it belonged to OSLA, not me. I owed them and repaying the debt was the right thing to do.

In the past, after finding out about the financial set back, I would've thrown a Morrissey worthy pity party, complete with razor kits and smeared black eyeliner.  And in all honesty I wanted to cry yesterday morning once I learned why the money hadn’t been deposited into my bank account yet.  I had a feeling some of the money would be intercepted, but I most definitely did NOT anticipate the entire sum to be applied to my loan balance.

This time there was no dramatic celebration. In fact, it’s been nearly 24 hours since the let down and I concluded there are several reasons I haven’t relapsed into my former self destructive behavior.

1.         1. I was in a restaurant eating breakfast when my mother called to deliver the news, [which she read to
          me from a letter I received at her address]. 

2. I wasn’t alone when I found out. I was in the company of a co-worker [now friend]; Chloe.   
3. The moment I felt like crying over the loss of a material object; currency; the feeling of vomit
    forming in my stomach took over everything else. 

When my eyes swelled up with tears, I was confused and embarrassed. Why did the money suddenly matter to me when my life wasn’t depending on it?  I admit, I wanted to buy tickets to the Austin City Limits Festival and I wanted to buy Adam a brand new play set for the backyard but I could still do both of those things. It would just take a little longer now. So why am I so upset? Oh yeah. I realized that my relationship with Ryan depended on the money since I promised to use part of it to take care of our bills so he could get out of Dallas and find a job closer to our home. But without that promise he isn’t leaving Dallas anytime soon.

I don’t want to lose Ryan.

Next was the issue of crying in front of Chloe. That breakfast date was the first time Chloe and I got together outside of work and I didn’t want to bring down the positive energy we were creating over coffee, solid art talk, eggs, and toast. So I refused to let the sadness get to me, at least for the time we were together.  I wanted to continue our good vibes by taking the news in stride.

Choose the cycle of good energy over the negative.

Lastly, the whole crying in public thing is something I haven’t done since ….Never. 

Well, only once.

I can’t remember a time when I ever thought crying in public was a good idea, except for when I was pregnant with Adam.


After going around in circles over these realizations in my mind and through talking with my new friend, I felt the fierceness I had a year ago begin to fill up my soul again . I didn’t realize my braveface had even left me until yesterday, when it returned in the form of a real smile and boisterous laughter as Chloe and I sat on the floor of the dank basement at the Fort Worth Public Library.  

LIZ: …so yeah, that’s the story of Bonnaroo. My boyfriend—well ex now, R-U-N-N-O-F-T’d because of a bad acid trip and he thought everyone was trying to kill him. And before he realized it wasn’t real he called me and threatened to find someone to rape me with a broomstick.

CHLOE: [Laughing profusely] WOW. Just wow. And you stayed with this guy after that?

LIZ: You don’t understand. I LOVED this boy. I just thought he was going through a rough patch. I didn’t realize it was a rough life.

CHLOE: Wow. You’ve lived through some crazy experiences.

LIZ: Indeed. Indeed.

___________________________________

I'm not afraid of Nichols Park
I ride the train and I ride it after dark
                                                                 I'm not afraid to get it right
I turn around and I give it one more try
                                                                I go out to the golden age

                                                                                                            The spirit is right and the spirit doesn't change

_________________________________

I get wound up from time to time in the present so much that I forget just how far I’ve come from the places I’ve been. The weakness I felt once I realized I was going to have to let things happen between me and Ryan, instead of forcing him to be with me, reminded me of the last time I went searching for a boy who I thought was lost in the woods in Tennessee. But he wasn’t lost. Or maybe he was and he wanted to be lost? I don't know? I do know that I didn’t want to run after that boy in the woods but I did because I thought I was in love. And the relationship blew up in my face. I don’t want to lose Ryan but I refuse to chase him. 

I refuse to chase anybody.

I also don’t want a relationship built around a money scheme either. That’s not who I am and unfortunately I don’t plan to change anytime soon.

My name is Liz Sweetly.
Most of my friends either call me Liz or Sweetly.
I don’t like running unless I have to for vanity issues.
I like to write. I love my son, my family, my friends and ART. 
I like talking and listening, and I’m learning how to do the latter better every day.
I’ve seen a lot of life for 27 years old and I can’t wait to see more.

Even if the something more I see is something I do all by myself.

I don’t plan to see it alone but even if I do, I’ll know I did it right. 

I'm free.

                                                                                                                  
Finally; I’m okay with that. 

I don't care what the captain said
I fold it right at the top of my head
I lost my sight and the state packs in
I follow my heart and it leads me right to Jackson.
-- Jacksonville/SUFJAN STEVENS

I'm okay with that. pt.II

So, I put writing aside this week. I ate and I slept, just as Ryan asked me to do. I even threw in something from my own brain and went on a solo excursion to the Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth. The trip to the museum was the highlight on the week because I was able to find some artistic inspiration from Ed Ruscha's On the Road exhibit that accompanies Jack Kerouac's book, also titled, On the Road.

I understand what Ryan was after last week, when he asked me to do the normal things human beings do, (eat, sleep, etc...). He was trying to get me to relax for a minute, which is something I forget to do often. I'm glad he suggested some time off because it gave me a chance to come up for air, and during my brief break I was reminded of the seamless complexity of life through it's combined simplicities. If that makes sense.

It either does or it doesn't.

______________________________

LIZ: I really enjoyed this week

but I think I'm ready to start back

on the book this weekend.

RYAN: I'm okay with that.
______________________________

I cried myself to sleep last night
I was hypnotized
To improvise
On the attitude, the regret
Of a thousand centuries of Death
Even in my best condition
counting all the superstition

I am riding all alone.

I am writing all alone.

Even with the rest belated

everything is antiquated
Are you writing from the heart?

--Come on Feel the Illinoise/SUFJAN STEVENS

I'm okay with that. pt. I

RYAN: You're exhausted. You need to eat and sleep. I don't know if you should
continue working on the memoir.
LIZ: Asking me to stop writing is like asking me to give up on myself.
RYAN: I already knew you wouldn't stop writing.

A 'No' uttered from deepest conviction is better and greater than a 'Yes' merely uttered to please, or worse, to avoid trouble.

-- Mahatma Gandhi

When Ryan left for work this morning, I stayed in bed for a few minutes and pretended that I had the option to go back to sleep. Nope. Work today. I got out of bed and jogged up the spiral staircase in our house so I could gauge what type of conditions Mother Nature brought us. From the balcony I studied the partly cloudy sky and noted the mild temperature of the air. The spring like weather I woke up to gave me hope that the ice and snow storm from a few weeks ago would be our last one for awhile.

Then again, the forces of nature are always game for unpredictability.

The TRE train from Dallas made it's presence known as it passed by the neighborhood, blowing it's ridiculously loud whistle several times. The sound mixed with the moderate climate reminded me of the days when I first moved to DFW, last spring 2010. I arrived in Texas alone, with a bag full of clothes, a couple of notebooks, a handful of Bic ballpoint pens, and an Acer notebook.

Fast forward to the present, and it's been a year since I left Oklahoma. Adam has settled into school and into our life together. I still handwrite these days, but now I use gel ink pens. I also received a brand new HP laptop from my younger brother, Joey. The gel ink and the new laptop have definitely increased my writing productivity at 110%.

Everything has changed.

There's more to add and subtract from my life story, circa 2011, than the things I mentally listed. The realization made me feel grateful and mournful. Experiencing the two emotions together was like watching them dance with one another in my mind and in my heart while they fought over which one would take the lead. Instead of giving into their conflict, I turned around, walked back into the house and left the two emotions to hash it out. Once inside, I wondered if I would come home from work later and find either of them, gratefulness or mourning, laid out in the front yard, tossed over the balcony, because I left the two feuding unsupervised?

Meh. It's not a long fall to the ground anyway. They'll survive.

But will I ever be strong enough to survive without them?
Would I miss their presence if I ever left them for good?

Do I even want that?

I question myself and the world around me on a daily basis. Sometimes I get answers and other times I'm not so lucky. The outcome is unpredictable, just as the forces of nature are.

I'm okay with that.

If I could
I'd fold myself away like a card table
A concertina or a Murphy bed
I would 

but I wasn't made that way
So instead

I'm open all night
and the customers come to stay
Everybody tips
but not enough to knock me over

I just worked two shifts
and I'm so tired.

-- Oh My God, Whatever, Etc.../RYAN ADAMS

Give or Take

Finally! The stupid Superbowl is over!

I was excited a few months ago when I found out north Texas would be hosting Superbowl XLV. However, working in downtown Fort Worth during the game left me with mixed emotions about the whole ordeal once it was all said and done. Not to mention the winter storm that arrived and camped out in our town last week. Between the on-edge east coast tourists and iced over streets, I applauded the terrible reviews I saw on the 10pm news tonight, regarding the Superbowl festivities.

I guess that makes me a Texas traitor for having nothing super great to say about the Superbowl?
Yeah? Fuck all that.

My bloodline runs deep, unless
I don’t sleep.
Figure it’s my POPS keeping me awake
Help me keep my mind off the clouds for reality
These mothafuckas can’t fathom the wizardry
Slow mo' brain that's backwards cowards
"Take a shower your attitude stinks."
Wanna know what I think?

Outside of the Superbowl, I found out that my 10 minute script wasn't accepted into the Source D.C.'s 10 minute play festival for 2011. This bothers me because I was able to make it into the theatre's semi-finals when the contest was a global endeavor, but I haven't been able to make it anywhere close to that level since they revamped the qualifications and made the contest a nation wide search, only.

I wasn't counting on getting a script into the contest, but regardless, it's been a hard pill to swallow that the theatre overlooked my entry. I chalk it up to, "everything happens for a reason", and I'm trying to keep my eyes forward, toward the ultimate prize; the completion of my personal manifesto/memoir project. Between the Superbowl, family, Ryan, and myself, it's been hard to schedule time to devote to my own art work.

Something's gotta give or I'll be forced to take. One way or another.

This is almost embarrassing to admit, but I miss the shit out of Oklahoma.

You must understand when I speak
This is how I really am
This is how I really think
Yes, I really do drink
I really do rage my demons out the cage
Before I became the age to even rage
I was drowning them sorrows with some OE...
--Mojo So Dope/KID CUDI

You shall receive.

**This update is dedicated to my BFF Brandi Van Alphen and my biggest fan, Ms. Amy Brantley.


Obviously, Old Man Winter was offended that he didn't win the Ass Punch Award for a consecutive year, since he's ruining the vibe here in DFW. Everyone expected Sundance Square to be Super Bowl XLV, party central this week, but since the latest winter storm moved in and shutdown the city, it's been more like a ghost town. I was indifferent about the whole thing, til I started to realize how much the event, or rather the lack of events, affected businesses downtown. From the individual standpoint, the vibe of the city's residents has been affected and everyone is operating on sluggish mode, either grumpy because they have to travel to work in the subzero temperatures or they're getting cabin fever from being stuck indoors.

The weatherman said we have one more day of snow then the storm system is moving out and by Saturday the temperatures will be in the high 50s and low 60s. I hope so, because life in DFW feels frozen in time at the moment.

Despite the shitty conditions, Ryan, Patrick and I are venturing over to The Loft in Dallas in a few hours to check out The Flaming Lips and Neon Indian. If anyone is capable of boosting morale, it's Wayne Coyne from the FLips. When I lived in Oklahoma I followed the FLips to all of their events, kind of the way Deadheads followed the Grateful Dead. I miss those days of living from one FLips event to the next. Unfortunately, time doesn't allow for such debauchery in my life like it used to when I lived in Oklahoma.

When people ask me these days, "How's life in Texas?", I tell them all the same thing. 

I need a break. The city [DFW] is constantly moving, and if you don't move with it, you will end up ran over by bus, train or crazy commuter on the interstate.

Maybe life in DFW being frozen in time at the moment isn't such a bad thing? After all, it's provided everyone, including me, a break from the non-stop hoopla of the metroplex. At least for one more day.

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes
Let them know you realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round
-- Do You Realize/ THE FLAMING LIPS

THE OFFICIAL 2011 update

...from the iPhone
PATRICK: Are you ever gonna update your blog?
LIZ: lol Yesss!
PATRICK: Don't 'lol yes' like you're gonna update it soon.

I just shook the handshake.
I just sealed the deal.
I'll try not to let them take everything they can steal.
People always told me
Don't forget your roots
I know.
I can feel them underneath my leather boots.
                                         --The Handshake/MGMT

Here it is: THE OFFICIAL 2011 update.

It's been one year since I moved to DFW and things have done a complete 180 since I've been here. I'm almost finished with the book/script I've been writing since 2009. I actually planned to have it done last weekend, but an unexpected death in the family threw me slightly off  course, and I took some time to re-RE-assess my life before I finished up the final edits on the book.

To add to the insanity of trying to finish my manifesto, I got an email last week from a man who lives in NYC named Kevin Allison. He's the creator and host of a storytelling podcast I listen to called RISK!. When I first arrived to DFW, I pitched a story idea at him via email and now, a year later, he wrote me back and asked me to record the story for the show. So the book is put on hold for one more week while I work on the story for RISK!.

Then there's the Superbowl, and ESPN and the Green Bay Packers are staying on my home turf in downtown Ft.Worth, TX. The business we'll get at Starbucks I'm sure will be tremendous, not to mention that Ryan's restaurant GREENZ in uptown Dallas will be busy because they're located next to the Packers' practice field at SMU. Kinda makes me sad that Brett Farve isn't with the Packers anymore because I was really looking forward to making small talk with him and getting some d*ck pics out of the whole thing.

I kid, I kid.

Finally, someone crept back into my life a few weeks ago, whom I met when I first moved to DFW. [If you guessed DRAKE DARKO, you were right.] With everything going on, it's no wonder the night terrors have returned and I haven't slept in nearly two days.

So there it is, THE OFFICIAL 2011 update.

LIZ: Are we really using our phones to look at the Pei Wei menu?
PATRICK: Um, YEAH. I bought these iPhones for us because they do everything.
LIZ: Gotcha.

Click here to watch me and Ryan in a ridiculous commercial at one of our favorite hang out spots, J.R. Bentley's in Arlington, TX.

This weekend's reality; This week's dream

I made it back to DFW from my Oklahoma excursion this weekend, [just in time to watch the Sooners win the Big XII Championship 2010].

I was happy to be home, but a few hours before I left Oklahoma, I felt a flame of melancholy start to warm the inside of my chest. It felt dreadful and I started to miss my little brother [AKA Joe Darkly], though I hadn't even left yet. He had to work the first night I got there so we didn't get to talk much, but we made up for it the night before I left. I complain about my little brother's lack of respect for anyone including himself, but I still love him. Maybe distance really does make the heart grow fonder and he and I just needed some time apart in order to appreciate each other's existence?

If I thought we could get along, I would love to get him out of my mother's house and bring him back to live with us in Texas. Our sibling Holy Trinity isn't complete without him.

Ugh.

I think this sudden need to kidnap Darkly is part of the whole pseudo-support cycle I said I would stop relying upon. I know he's content with the time we spent visiting. In that same thought, I would be willing to put money on it that he would be just as content if he and I never had that time together. Truthfully, my little brother's ability to cope with life without ever needing anyone is something I've been jealous of, for all of my mine.

I also just realized that I forgot to add Darkly to the list of the unstable things in my life. I suppose I didn't add him because I'm not sure which one of us is behind the reason for our unstable relationship.

I bet it's a 50/50.

Oddly enough, the person I'm least concerned about these days is my mother. She seems to be doing really well which is awesome. I believe that when she moved back to Oklahoma this year, she was able to find some solitude after my dad's passing. I know she's not 100% content because she's never 100% content. It's her nature to be more than 50% dissatisfied with the world at all times. But after seeing her on the visit and feeling the confidence she exuded, I know she's feeling better these days. I just wish she had more to do with her time. The woman is intelligent and she has a degree that's just dying to be used. Not because she needs the extra income, but because I think it would secure her confidence if she was doing more.

That's another thing I need to work on letting go; letting go. It's not my job to save everyone, despite the past record. It's difficult learning to let go. But my mother and my brother have made the task of letting them go as easy as humanly possible.

This is the part where I accept their want to be alone because it isn't meant to be taken personally.


That was my last visit to the Sooner state for 2010 and for awhile, since I made the decision not to go back to Oklahoma until I get the first volume of my memoir finished. Through this written agreement with myself, I will make sure to utilize my time in Texas, without interruption. I'm not too far behind on the book and most of it is written. It's the format of the book I'm having issues with. It's proven to be a challenge because I don't want the book to be merely a book. I want it to be an experience that the reader; that the audience experiences as I did, so we share the experience, together.

On another note, I had a series of random dreams last night that I remembered vividly when I woke up this morning.

The dream began with my shift manager from Starbucks asking me to pick her up so she and I could go to work together. We both ended up running late and we got in trouble for opening the store late. Then all of my co-workers showed up and we went on a field trip and had a picnic out in this open, outdoorsy type place. The dream took a random turn and suddenly I was at A Perfect Circle concert. Paz Lenchatin, [their former guitarist who now plays with ZWAN], spoke to the audience.

She said, "Yeah, Maynard took a picture of me and this Mormon guy backstage before we came on. Remember not to live your life on your knees."

Strange, strange, strange.

In true dream fashion, I was suddenly teleported to another scene at Ryan's dad's house. Ryan and I walked into the house and his step-mother was laying on her bed next to a girlie magazine and a nail file. Ryan asked if he could have the magazine and she gave it to him. He walked out of the bedroom and left me with his step-mother, alone. I asked her if I could have the nail file and she handed it to me and started crying. I could hear loud music coming from somewhere in the house and his step-mother said, "That's [Ryan's dad]." I started to get the vibe that they were fighting and she wanted to be alone.

From the bedroom, I walked out and found the hallway staircase that led to the guest room. I heard a door slam shut from somewhere in the back of the house, which I assumed to be Ryan walking outside. Then the music coming from the room where Ryan's dad was at became louder and louder until it was all I could hear.

I stared up at the hallway staircase and felt a dreadful, warm feeling return to my chest. It felt similar to the feeling I had when I left Oklahoma this weekend.

"Life is not a dream when you can't wake up from the dream you wanted."

-- The Freak/SMASHING PUMPKINS

Ready...Aim...FIRE!

Tonight I faced the one thing I fear the most. The thing I fear more than life, more than the grief that still hangs around and sneaks up on me, more than heights or eating popcorn shrimp that I thought was popcorn chicken...

Tonight I faced me, myself.
Alone.

It's been roughly a year since I've done that.

When I left DFW on the Amtrak this evening, en route to OKC, I knew it was going to be an experience, but I wasn't prepared for what ensued once I stepped onto the train. While I found an empty seat and tried to get comfortable, I realized it wasn't going to happen. I was too anxious about going on the trip without Adam or Ryan, so there was no way I was going to be able to relax. Then I wondered if I still had time to back out and get off the train. My anxieties were already stewing earlier in the day and once the train started moving, they heated up and boiled over into a full-fledged panic attack nightmare.

I started looking around, trying to make a quick decision: Should I cry or get up and jump off the train? Like spidey-sense, I became hyper aware of everything around me. It felt violent, like I was forced to wake up from the longest period of sleep in the history of ZZzzzzs. The entire experience was shocking to my psyche and it cut sharp into me, leaving what felt like a gaping, deep Grand Canyon sized incision right in the center on the top of my head.

The sudden forced awake state and alertness caused the thoughts in my brain to spin around wildly and I starting questioning my life, the train ride, and their validity, combined.

Did my father really pass away last year? And did the murder really happen? Is my mother living in Oklahoma and I'm really living in Texas now? What about my brothers? They're still around, right? And Adam....and Ryan? Did I dream my entire life?. Who am I? Where am I?

In the past I would have refused the possibility of my life as a dream sequence. The theory as a viable answer to the things that I've seen and the things I've lived through is something I'd almost rather not imagine because even though I've lived through a good portion of fucked up situations, the experiences I've had are belong to me and they're my only reality.

Even if I were to cast aside my true experiences and buy into the idea that my entire life was a series of dreams, never ending until now, I'd still be the person I am today. Because no matter what, the things I've dreamed or lived through are all I know. The lessons I've learned, the touches, the kisses, the goodbyes that I wasn't ready to say and even the hellos that I wasn't prepared to offer...

That was all I wrote for the past 27 years, figuratively and literally speaking.

To explore this possibility even further, imagining life as a dream is entertaining because it offers no definite beginning, middle, or end. Without definite starts and an unknown ending, life, the dream, becomes infinite. Perhaps the ability for life to be infinite is possible without the dream theory? Maybe that's what life is truly meant to be?

Living = Seeing = Dreaming = Believing...
At least for the time being.

This theory about life as a dream is a theory I learned of a few years ago. It was inspired from the teachings of a psychologist named Carl Jung. Jung theorized that our dreams were meant to help guide us in our realities, in our lives as we live them. Take that theory a step further and you have the birth of the waking dream. A waking dream is thought to be any and every unique, noteworthy, stand-out, devastating, and monumental event[s] we experience and later recall. This act of recalling is said to aid us in our spiritual growth because we are meant to learn a lesson within each of the waking dreams we see and/or experience.

If the waking dreams theory is possible then let's go back to the start of this particular dream on the train and attempt to understand what it's trying to tell me.

My biggest fear is myself, solo.
This fear causes me great shame to admit, but I have to admit it openly and honestly because I made a vow to myself and to the world at the beginning of 2010, that I would be as open and honest as possible with my thoughts and feelings, especially as I expressed them within my writing.

Why is it that I fear myself?
This fear has been an on again/off again phobia I've dealt with during all of the 27 years of my life. It increased during the summer of 2009 and has grown at a rapid rate since then, nearly paralyzing my life, today. Examining the symbolism in the fear, it's constant coming and going, I'm forced to list all of the things in my life that share the on again/off again characteristic.

• Ex-boyfriends
• My father
• My patriarchal family, particularly my aunts
• Friends
• Fears
• Unsettled grief from the loss of loved ones

Listing the things in my life that share the trait of instability made me realize how drastic the instability in my life has been. But it's not totally bleak...

Fast-forward to the present and it's more than evident that instability is no longer a constant in my life. Life has calmed down since January 2010 when I moved to Texas. I have routines now, schedules I do my best to adhere to, and [somewhat] clear goals for my life. This is a first for me and it's a welcome change from the past. So why do I fear myself? Fearing myself sometimes and not sometimes, is an action I've come to find comfort within since it's familiar. Though unstable, it's been a consistent, reliable variable I could count on at my best and worst moments in life. Just the same as I always knew that my dad would go on alcoholic binges and leave for days or weeks, then he'd always come back home at the end of his vicious cycle, and the way I knew that my ex-boyfriends and I would fight, break-up, then make-up:

Lather, rinse, repeat.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
...

Translation: The fear of myself is merely an echo of the instability that has been my life story.

But as of now, that story is no longer mine. In fact, this is the ending of the old story and the start of an entirely new book, complete with new characters and fresh plots just waiting to be played out and told! With the excitement of this chance to start over,  why, why, why am I terrified of myself outside of the past chaos? I should be afraid of the chaos, not myself.

Trying to get the answer to this question is like having to drag someone out to face the front line of a firing squad. [Not that I would know first hand what it's like to drag someone to their death. I'm only making parallels to the two scenarios similarities for horrorcore's sake.]

There are several reasons I fear myself and this new life more than I fear the chaos I've already lived through. The biggest reason is because I dread any experience or person I don't know. Nothing seems more frightening to me than being forced to face or deal with yet another bullshit person or circumstance, especially without anything or anyone to turn to for help. Whether that help be in the form of offering me a bigger disaster to focus on besides the one at hand, or pseudo-support from anyone other than myself; these are the things I've come to depend upon.

Finally, the core of the fear is exposed; stripped down naked with every nasty flaw visible to on-lookers and to the imaginary firing squad, eagerly waiting to hear the signal.
Ready...
Aim...

There it is, assed out: I am addicted to pseudo-support systems and false hopes.
Now, what-if, and this is an Olympic sized what-if, but what-if I didn't rely on pseudo-support or false hopes any longer? Pseudo-support systems and false hopes are a lot like life support when you think about it. All those tubes and needles and fluids; being hooked up to a machine that controls the beating of the heart... Why? To live a life resigned to a twin sized gurney, loved ones stopping by the hospital for visits when it's convenient, to experience the heart wrenching goodbyes as loved ones leave and return to their lives in their queen-sized beds without tubes, needles and fluids being shoved into their bodies; their own hearts beating for them.

Either way death is inevitable and permanent life support becomes an unhealthy and unnatural means of survival that only prolongs the unavoidable event. Living on life support sounds way too familiar for comfort. Even with this knowledge, I'm still afraid to face this new life alone because I'm afraid I'm going to fail and if I fail--

Well I don't want to know what happens if I fail.

In the cheesiest of cheesy statements; Failure is not an option. I know it's not an option because I've purposefully tried to fail at life on several occasions. I mean I've tried really hard to fail at life before and have been unsuccessful in my attempts, every time. I fail at failing, so that leaves me with no other choice. Besides, if I've made it this far, despite my fears, I'd hate to give up now. Now that I've seen a happy life is possible. Of course, I also know it's possible I could end up living a crappy life pt.deux.

I have to give up the pseudo-support and embark on this new chapter of my life, alone. Just me in my life, living and dealing with whatever and whomever comes along.
               
Ready...

Kind of ironic when it's put in those terms; Just me in my life, living and dealing with whatever and whomever comes along.

Aim...

I guess no one is ever truly alone because life is constantly existing, whether we see it or not. Kind of like that legendary question: If a tree falls down in the wilderness and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? It may not make a sound but it does cause a vibration which can set off a multitude of chain reactions. People and their lives are the same. Whether or not we know each other exists, we all do things that cause reactions we don't realize, or maybe we do realize them, though never in their absolute entirety. The reactions go on and on and overlap so that we lose their exact starts and their exact ends.

It's from this that I am certain of one thing: We are all connected and life is infinite.

I began to take solace on the train and in the certainty of the infinite. I relaxed as the train pulled into the station at OKC. I stretched my arms out in front of me and gathered my belongings. I pondered the idea of the waking dream. If it still stands as a possibility, then the things I've seen and lessons I learned in my dream, I plan to apply to my present life and to my future. My future from this moment is scary, but it's inevitable.

FIRE!

So the question resurfaces: Where do I go from here?

It's too soon to predict or say at the moment. I know I'm not running from anything and I'm willing to learn how to deal with life alone, sans pseudo support systems. Who knows what I'll do or where I'll go? Maybe I'll make breakfast and hang out in my PJs all day, watching daytime television? Maybe I'll shower and check out an art museum? Maybe I'll go back to sleep?

Or maybe I'll finish writing that memoir I've been working on for the past 27 years?

I
alone am uncertain about what's in store for the next chapter of my life.
That's okay because
I
even with the aid of others, am uncertain about what will happen from here.
All
I
am certain of is that the possibilities are endless.

Words, words, words!

Finishing with 83, 544 words toward the completion of my first novel;

Where do I go from here?

"In the end, the answer was so simple it took a week to come up with."
--THE VIRGIN SUICIDES

Thank god the weekend is finally here.

I've been anticipating the end of this week since it started. Mainly because my feelings of grief began resurfacing fully since last Sunday night. I tried to figure out why I felt so terrible, let it go, then felt like shit, then tried to figure it again; repeat. It makes me feel like I'm going insane when I feel down to the core of my entire being, extremely low.

Grief is an overwhelming thing to shoulder and deal with alone. I wouldn't wish the feeling of it upon my worst enemy, not because I don't have any enemies, but because working through grief is single-handedly the HARDEST thing I've ever had do in my life. That's a huge statement because I've dealt with some high-stress situations before this, especially for a 27 year old young woman. From being a single mother of a child with special needs, one marriage, one divorce, and recession. I managed to live through those circumstances without entirely losing it. Even with all of my previous stresses, they couldn't prepare me for the inevitable showdown between myself and the grief I feel from the losses of 2009.

This seems like a ridiculous victory to celebrate, but I am proud of myself for acknowledging what I am feeling. It's driving me mad because I don't understand it fully. I think my routine of picking up and moving on from each of the events that shook my life in 2009 have caused me to run, out of habit now, from everything I face in my life today. This includes running from the mental and emotional aftershock effects from it all and I ask myself frequently; Where do I go from here?

I've come to realize I have to face this grief because it doesn't matter where I run to; Texas, Canada, Australia... the Moon; it will still be with me. Fighting doesn't make sense to me unless it's to survive or to protect. But that doesn't matter because I'm going to have to drag out the fighter within me to face my grief and ride it out. [Unless of course, it rides me out instead].

On a more upbeat note, I was reminded of the kindness and beauty of humanity this week, twice.

My shift manager from work asked me how I was doing and I told her I just felt tired. She could tell there was a little more to the story but she was respectful and didn't force me to tell her the whole situation. Instead, she set my tips next to the register as she left; "Don't forget to count them", she said. I walked over to the register and found a note on my tips.

The note made me smile and I wanted to chase after her to thank her, but  I heard our door chime go off, signaling a customer coming into the store, so I looked up.

LIZ: Hi! Welcome to--Hey! What are you up to?!
RUSS: Just stopping by to check on you. Have you taken your lunch yet?
LIZ: Not yet. Give me a second and I'll go clock out downstairs.
RUSS: Oh hey, I thought you might like this.

RUSS: ...so yeah, my amp-head fried and I gotta buy a new one but it was still a good show. You and Pat missed out. What about you? What's been going on? 
LIZ: I think I've been depressed, dealing with a lot of old feelings from some things. It's been frustrating-- kind of the reason I've been out of the loop as of late. 
RUSS: That's okay. The biggest thing to do is just keep doing what you're doing. Keep working on your memoir and get it finished while you have the drive to... You know, to get it done. And keep yourself busy.
LIZ: Advice taken!
RUSS:  Just so you know, you're not going crazy girl.
LIZ: You know, I've found some solace in the past month from something you once told me.
RUSS: What was that?
LIZ: That paranoia wasn't a dysfunction. That paranoia was actually a heightened sense of awareness.
RUSS: It is. It's just being more aware of what's happening, what's going on around you.
LIZ: Do you ever look for repeating symbols in your life?
RUSS: Oh yeah, all the time. Mainly numbers. Certain sequences of numbers and their patterns.
LIZ: I've been trying to figure out why the infinite symbol keeps popping up in my life everywhere.
RUSS: It means that nothing has an exact start or end.
LIZ: You really think so?
RUSS: I know so.

It's instinctual to be aware of another person's emotions. But it's by our choice whether or not we choose to exercise our ability to empathize and show care for others. There's not much to it and it can be done with or without words.

I was grateful for the two acts of kindness and though I wasn't back to operating at 110%, the small talk and sincere gestures made me feel more connected to my present state of life and where I am today.

Then I found the answer to my daily questionnaire.

Q. Where do I go from here?

A. Nowhere. I don't have to run anymore.

Just a bad day.

Monday morning, 7:30am.
Outside on the balcony of the house, smoking cigarettes with Ryan before he leaves for his daily commute to work.

LIZ: I'm sorry for waking you up so late last night.
RYAN: I don't think it was that late, really. Do you know what time it was?
LIZ: No...
RYAN: Well try to have a good day.
LIZ: I'll be okay. It was just unexpected. It surprised me as much as it surprised you.

Neither Ryan or I knew what time it was when I got out of bed last night, sobbing. I do know what sparked the waterworks. It's embarrassing to admit because my sudden, deep sadness was sparked by one simple sentence from the bedtime story I read to Adam last night, [Mercer Mayer's Just a Bad Day]. Hearing myself say the sentence out loud made me feel vulnerable and lost. I wished that I could say the sentence in my everyday life, but I'll never get the chance to again. The sentence I'm referring to;

Then dad came home.

I was actually in a great mood last night until reading that sentence. It triggered something that made my heart feel like it was hit by a speeding freight train going 100 MPH; the train hauling issues from 2009 nearly smashing over the last, little bit of positive outlook I have left .

After Ryan left for work this morning, I began recalling my various experiences with death and loss. My archived mental notes exhibited a pattern I never noticed until now. It appears that I have a record. I have a record of habit; coming to terms with grief from the passing of my loved ones at the most inconvenient times and places.

There was last night's book massacre, and the coffee nazi...and there was even a third time I was K.O.'d by sudden grief.

A former lover of mine, [whom afterward, I remained good friends with], Smaz, died in a car accident in October 2002, I continued to live life as if his death didn't deeply affect me. Roughly a month after he passed, my advisor asked me to help judge a high school theatre contest and I agreed. The first scene we watched was from Steel Magnolias. As the characters began talking about their sister who just died, my eyes began to swell up at the mention of death. I bolted out of the theatre, [quietly as possible because I have a deep respect for the sanctuary of the stage.] Once I got out of the building and made it outside, I lurched over the grass like I was going to vomit but nothing came out. I just started hyperventilating. My heart began pounding and it felt like someone just shot me in the chest, close range, with a bazooka gun. I found out later that my reaction was a panic attack, complete with tears that erupted from my eyes as if they were mini geysers.

Even after assessing my coping skills, I do not understand why I reacted the way I did to the book last night. How could one measly sentence send me into a black hole of defeat? I feel like I've come to terms with 2009; my father's death, followed by the homicide, then my grandpa's passing, so there's no need to overreact anymore. Not understanding why it got to me so badly eats at me [almost] more than the feelings of depression that came with it.

There are a multitude of things that can ignite loss from the past. I get that. They say there's no exact way to partake in or understand the grieving process. The most important thing to do, is to allow yourself to grieve however you choose to, as needed. So I guess that means I have to accept that if I still cry sometimes over my father's death, it just happens. I wished I didn't because I hate sobbing. Simply, it sucks.

I am hopeful that in the future, the fall-out of feelings from 2009 will not feel as intensely negative as they do now. Once I get my memoir project finished, I believe it will be a huge step in helping me release some of the unsettled grief and grievances I continue to hold inside. 

In a letter from my father that was written in 1997, he told me the cycle of negativity that lingered around our family had to be stopped, starting with me and my life. His words and direction in the letter didn't make sense to me back then, but today I finally understand what he meant.

But [Together and Alone]

"I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but."

--Maniac/KID CUDI ft. CAGE

I've been working on a sort-of-kind-of memoir for the past year. It's been an extremely rough, raw writing experiment; terribly unorganized. The past two months I've spent trying to put some order to the whole concept in hopes to bring the short stories I've lived through, back to life. I want to share these experiences to entertain anyone who wants to be entertained. I also want to empathize with others who may have gone through and seen some of the realest life situations.

After living through some of the biggest life changes a person can live through, I feel like sharing my stories will positively affect anyone who chooses to listen or read. Most of what I've been through, would and will, shock people. If the stories are taken for face value, they sound like depressing, scary urban legends. However, if people place their own life experiences in between the written lines of mine and compare them, our experiences become shared. Everyone's experiences, everyone's problems, and everyone lives are connected, [and "no one man's stresses are greater than any other man's"].


Through this way of sharing, we live each and every experience together, so no one is ever truly alone.

But I'd be lying if I said I never wished that I was truly alone, sometimes.

"You are who you are and I know who I am."

It always starts with a small conversation, when suddenly I'm sent into an abyss of deep thought that forces me to explore and evaluate my life and art.

It almost always starts out this innocent; my descent. I'd swim around forever in those darkest, below sea-level depths if I could. Sometimes I wonder if maybe I am stuck in those waters, in that mode of thought, and I don't even realize it?

At work last week...
SHELBY: You remind me of this rapper named Cage.
LIZ: Well...I have been listening to a lot of rap lately.

I laughed when Shelby told me this, only because I had no idea what she meant exactly. I imagined myself as a rapper, pondered over various MC names, then giggled some more. She elaborated on her statement and where she failed to explain with her own words, she pulled out her iPhone and introduced me to the lyrical content and sounds from Mr.Cage.

You're always dying inside
That much closer to home
A crowded street corner
Surrounded by people, all alone.
Pain in the heart
Rain in the dark
The wind is glum and bitter.
-- I Never Knew You/CAGE

Yep. It appears that I am, in fact, stuck in that mode of thought. It's not a secret anymore. Not so much because everyone else knows it and sees it, but because I know it now.

I don't know what the hell I was thinking when I thought I wouldn't be permanently changed by the things I've experienced the past two years. It's incredible to have been through the INs and OUTs of life, especially at my age, thoroughly enough to see your happiest dreams, your most feared nightmares, and your reality all mesh together and become one. Suddenly there is no line between fantasy and real life. The walls come down and boundaries cease to exist.

It's at that moment, I believe, anything is possible becomes true.
Beautiful, heavenly things are possible and horrific, hell-on-earth things are possible.

You know it.
And now I know.
So that's everyone that needs to know I suppose.

With this knowledge, I've decided to start embracing the darkest parts of my life and art. No more editing for content or to save face.

You are who you are and I know who I am.

I've been working the past couple of months with Ryan and Patrick, laying out my artistic career goals and mapping out a plan to achieve those goals. It's awesome living and working with two managers who [mostly] understand my life and art.

With their help now, I'm able to freely explore and embrace in complete darkness and almost always, I never get completely lost, forever.

Prelude to the Prologue: Holy.Fuck.Shit.

NaNoWriMo

REsurfacation.

It's Monday, November 1st, 2010. Halloween is over and we're officially on the down slope of 2010. I didn't get to enter my art installation into the Dia de Los Muertos art show because the art director said he could only give me a 36" x 36" wall space. To this, my reply to him;

"Then don't advertise that your show is accepting installations. 36" x 36" of wall space is hardly enough space for an installation. [Fucka]." *

Usually I'd just pick myself up and move on from something like this. I still plan to put together the installation and enter it into another show. In the meantime I feel something unsettled within myself. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I can feel it rumbling inside of my chest. I thought maybe I just needed to cry or something, so I did that yesterday as we left Ryan's grandmother's house. Once we got home, I took a nap. I hoped to feel better after the tiny sleep break, but I didn't.

I imagine this feeling is from the never ending, constantly unsettled feelings from the past that won't ever subside. I go back and forth on the issues, letting them go, then being blindsided by the them when they resurface. I never anticipate their REsurfacation.**

I'm super paranoid
like a sixth sense.
Since [our] father[s] died
I ain't been writing since.
My heart is an Open sore
that I hope heals soon.

With it being November, it's time for me to get back on the art wagon for sure. As I write this paragraph I'm beginning to realize that's where some of the unsettled feelings in me start--
When I stop--Creating art.

I entered a script to D.C.'s The Source Theater play festival last week. We'll see how that goes. I should find out if I made the cut in a few months.

Speaking of resurfacing, it was roughly a year ago when my friend Jymz and I had a conversation that, for some reason, I haven't been able to stop thinking about, today.

LIZ: So what do you think about the new Jay-Z album?
JYMZ: It's aight.
LIZ: What do you mean, 'it's aight'?! It's amazing!
JYMZ: Yeah...but I have some issues with it. Lyrically speaking.
LIZ: Explain. I'm listening.
JYMZ: Well you know, the beats are good, but how many times can you sing about 'back in the day' when you used to sell drugs. You know things can't be that bad for Jay-Z now. It gets 'old' after a while singing about 'your old stash spots'.
LIZ: I didn't ever really think about it like that.
JYMZ: Get it?
LIZ: (Smiles) I hear ya.

*  I didn't actually call the art director a fucka, just in case he REsurfaced into my life again.
** Yeah, I know REsurfacation isn't a word. I just made it up.


________________________________________________________________________________________


November 1st, 2010
1:23pm

The four minutes and fifty-two seconds hallway.


I noticed I had a missed call from Adam's school, so I immediately returned the call.

After several rings....
MAN: Hello. [Insert name of Adam's school here]
LIZ: Hi! My son goes to school there. His name is Adam [insert last name here],
I just got a call from the school and I'm returning the call.
MAN: Oh, okay. Hold on, let me find someone who knows. Oh yeah, there's the school nurse. Hold on a second ma'am.

Exactly four minutes and fifty-two seconds pass...
NURSE: Hi! Is this Adam's mom?
LIZ: Yes! What's wrong?!?!
NURSE: Oh, Adam's fine. We just wanted to let you know that he got his arm stuck in a rocking chair earlier today and he may or may not have a little bruising from it.
LIZ: Oh my god! That's it?! That was the LONGEST four minutes and fifty-two seconds I've ever experienced in my life.
NURSE: (Laughing) Oh, I'm so sorry! I promise if there was ever something really wrong we would definitely find a way to get ahold of you.
LIZ: Well thank you for the phone call and for letting me know.
NURSE: Sure thing! Have a good day!

One thing I know for sure today. It's very evident that my anxieties have REsurfaced, fully.

There's only so far you can go
When you're living in a hallway
that keeps growing
I think to myself
[Four more minutes and fifty-two seconds]
and I'll be there.
--5 & 1/2 Minute Hallway/POE

Lemonade or straight whiskey?

Ryan and I are going to see Minus the Bear tonight at House of Blues in Dallas, TX. I'm excited about the show, though the reason we're going is because he bought the tickets a few weeks ago when we were fighting. I remember standing outside on my balcony when he handed me the envelope. I already knew what it was without opening it. "Nice try", I said, and I tossed the envelope aside; "You still have to talk to me."

Sometimes it's frustrating being in a relationship with someone who doesn't speak the same language. I feel like that with Ryan, frequently. I don't believe that we're incapable of communication. We can communicate if he's willing to listen and vice versa. Since the night we hashed out our differences and he gave me the Minus the Bear tickets, we've been working on communicating with each other. Trust that there are still days when I want to scream directly into one of his ears because it seems like he can't hear me. There are also days when I want to erect statues in his honor because he takes the time to talk things out when one of us is unhappy.

Going over it in my head, the central core of our biggest debates stem from growing up in two entirely different worlds. Ryan grew up in a Mormon faith based home where Joseph Smith (and apparently lemonade, as Ryan has confessed to me) ruled. I grew up in a place where no one truly ruled and straight whiskey was my father's drink of choice.

It seems like it wouldn't matter how we grew up since we both claim to be different people today than we were as children back then, but it does matter. The ideals we were conditioned to learn and believe in as children resound in every adult's soul, whether the adult chooses to believe it or not. Don't get me wrong, we discover things as we grow that shape our beings as people, but our upbringing is a key factor in who we are.

I didn't always believe that faith played any sort of role in relationships until a few years ago. A former lover of mine and I were sitting outside on the tailgate of his 1983 Ford pickup truck. We were drinking wine and staring up at the stars in the summer night sky.

"Do you believe in God?" he asked me.
"I don't know. I think it's a possibility", I replied.

The rage that followed from my reply made me wish I never dared to sit outside and stare at the stars in the sky with him.

"How can you believe in God when there is so much science that disproves it?!?!" he screamed at me.
"I don't know? It just seems to me that it's possible and it's not possible", I said.

He stormed off into the house and I sat there on the tailgate of his truck and finished my glass of wine. I stared at the stars alone and realized that our differences of opinions, faith, and beliefs affected more than what went on in our heads, separately. The differences and lack of communication affected us until we were no more.

I don't want that with Ryan. I want something better.

So I don't expect Ryan to learn to speak my language anymore. I don't want to learn his language either. We're making up an entirely new language of our own in order to live in harmony. I think that's part of what love is; starting something new, together.

Lemonade or straight whiskey?
Neither.
Combing the two?

Now we're talking.

Everyone has their obsession
Consuming thoughts, consuming time
They hold high their prized possession
That defines the meaning of their lives

You are mine.

-- You are Mine/MUTE MATH

Everything and everyone happens [and doesn't happen] for a reason. (The "Somewhere Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World" Reprise)

"When I was just a little boy standin' to my Daddy's knee, my poppa said, 'Son, don't let the man get you--
Do what he done to me.' "
--Born on the Bayou/CCR


It's been almost a month since my mom moved back to Oklahoma. I've spent this month adjusting to living and settling in with both Adam and Ryan. Admittedly, I will say it hasn't been all rainbows and sunshine. I almost forgot how hard it was to take care of Adam without my mother's help. On the Ryan side, I almost forgot how hard it was to make a true relationship work. But after the past few weeks we've begun to find our niche and started to learn how to live our new lives together, on every level.
(Cue in RAINBOWS and SUNSHINE.)

I'm figuring out how to balance all of the piEces of this new life; my family and art as well. I decided that once November gets here, my second priority will be working on getting my own art career in gear. Until then, I'm exposing my heart, my mind, and my soul to EVERYTHING and becoming inspired by the world around me; gaining inspiration from those close to me and from complete strangers.

October 2010 suggested list of things I should experience

Apocalypse Now - (Patrick and Ryan)
Mayan Exhibit at Kimbell Art Museum - (self-suggestion)
Ansel Adams photography exhibit at Amon Carter Museum - (Patrick)
Road trip to Oklahoma with Adam and Ryan - (self-suggestion)
Minus the Bear show at the House of Blues in Dallas - (Ryan)
[Open suggestions here.]

Wednesday afternoon, on the street, in downtown Fort Worth...
OLD MAN: Are you going to dye your hair purple like that girl's hair?
LIZ: (Smiles at the man) No, I didn't plan to.
OLD MAN: That's good. My hair is brown and gray. Your hair will get gray one day too.
LIZ: (Laughs) I hope it doesn't!
OLD MAN: You just gotta keep waking up. That's the key.You gotta keep waking up. Over and over. Everyday.

I've also decided to enter an art installation piece into an art show in Fort Worth. The show is themed Dia de Los Muertos, and opens on October 30th. It's my first art show, so obviously I'm excited but I'm also nervous. The installation I'm entering is going to feature a 12ft x 8ft recreation of my parents' dining room, as it would look in the morning, if my father were still alive today. It's sounds vague right now, but once I write out the concept and get the blue prints for the design drawn out it will make a little more sense, visually speaking.

RYAN: What do you think the best CCR song is?
LIZ: That's easy. It's, "Born on the Bayou".
RYAN: (Smiles) See, that's why I love you. Because you know that too.