you know it all

A friend pointed out to me that I write some pretty personal stuff on this blog. She wondered if it bothered me that anyone could see it. For a while it bothered me, I felt like I had to censor myself, like I was putting myself out into a cruel world naked and over exposed. But I think that’s what’s cathartic about blogging for me. I can take anything that I’m feeling and shove it out into the world for anyone to see whenever, wherever. And I don’t have to look at them when they do it. I know that sounds bad, but it’s true. Imaging letting everyone know everything but not having to actually tell anyone anything. I can say here what I wouldn’t have the courage to say to anyone directly. This may be cowardly and some people may use this power to do bad things and hurt others, but I don’t. I share my life with you so I can understand it myself. So no, I don’t care if you know it all. Right now I have nothing more to hide.



She looked so small & fragile
Lying there
All curled up.
She was in one of those beds,
The kind that hospice gives you.
Like the one my grandmother had
A few years ago.
She looked so jagged
Her shoulders, knuckles, and spine
All making sharp angles
In the space around her.
She looks so small
So small that I could pick her up
I wish
That I could just pick her up
And bring her,
She wakes up for a moment
And reaches for my hand.
I’m already crying
When I say
“I love you.”
But she’s asleep again.
So my words
Hang in the air,
While my tears
Fall to the earth.
A little while later
She says
“I’m okay.”


Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck in a well. For weeks I’ve been struggling to get out. Time is like watercolor paint, days and nights all bleeding into eachother and eventually into a giant mass of darkness. I don’t know if it’s been hours or days since I’ve stopped trying. I used to claw at the walls thinking that there could be some way out. I’m so far down, I don’t think that anyone can hear me. I keep making up stories in my mind, about anything. Anything, to keep my mind of of everything. Sometimes I wish my brain would turn into mashed potatoes; so I wouldn’t be able to think, or worry, or understand, or understand that I don’t understand. Then I wouldn’t have to think about who I was, who I am, or who I want to be, who I should be, who my parents want me to be, who my teachers want me to be, or who my friends want me to be. But all of that now slips away as I sit inside of a well, different things begin to matter.

And a happy new year…(a few days late)

WordPress sent out statistics of all of it’s bloggers blogs in 2014. It was really crazy/surprising to see that people in Vietnam, and Kenya had read my blog. It’s really nice to imagine that people other than my few friends had taken the time to view my site. I really appreciate how therapeutic this blog has been for me, every comment and every view brightens up my day. We’re all just living through the subtle casualties of our lives, thank you for reading about mine. Cheers!