Emergence

So I emerge from the abyss once again, 15 pounds lighter, blonder, richer, and recently promoted.

So have recently become office star, with random gifts from distinguished SVP for the holidays - he picked me out of all his employees! I will be going courtside with his son, supposedly successful in the internet business in California. Another trust fund baby. Money I got but I could use a stronger man. I don't know the slightest thing about basketball, but how can you refuse such a generous offer? I couldn't very well tell the man no.

Am getting ready for Vegas as the days come nearer to the big moment. Sher and me booked the Chelsea for New Year's Eve. Intending on buying a new dress for the occasion, both respectively. Am likewise broke beyond doubt. Am likewise not concerned as I ought to be about this.

I feel something beautiful in the air, lately. I got a wonderful bounty of personal gifts from all my friends at work. I owe them a lot, really, especially D, without whom I might not be at all sane. It is wonderful to come through something as tumultuous as my flirtation with mental disaster these last few months and find out nothing was as horrible as I imagined it at all.

Matt and me talked about punk today; for years I hadn't discussed that past with anyone. And it is wonderful to see, after all these years, how truth really rings in:

"ARE WE DEAD YET?! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" - The Unseen

You know, I never got that song when it was big; its a shame, really.

I am exhausted but sleep so little these days. I feel something big coming, something wonderful and enriching. I'm not worried anymore about me. Claire told me everything.

Crims found new meat. Doesn't she always? Thinking she's mad at me, though, hasn't called all night.

Missing my dearest B, far far far away in a land called Guyana.

Fortifying Treatment...

It hit me today like a bolt of lightning through the glass house I keep seeing in my dreams. The power of goodbye is only what you make it. I don't have to be here anymore if I choose.

I'm only 23, it makes sense now. I do need time to grow, time to learn, time to give.

Goodbye, it doesn't mean forever. It isn't and end, it's growth, it's a test. It's everything beautiful I've wished for, everything I've needed all this time.

I'm home at last...

I'm right here, babe. Come wind come rain. No more rain. The grass can grow now. I do believe.

Undoing 3 months of damage only took three minutes, the bottle said. I had it in me all the time.

Beautiful

I was 13 when I first understood I was beautiful. My mother tried to save me, my father never talked about it, her years of adoration with the face she gave to me. It was then my hair changed color, the orangey blonde it is now.

But Mom, you left out so much. You didn't tell me how it was going to hurt. Maybe it hurt you like this, too. Everywhere, Mom, they tell me I'm beautiful, how pretty my hair is, what wonderful eyes I have, my hips the perfect shape, my pallor glowing with each dignified step. Mom, everywhere they tell me I'm beautiful, right up until the end, when they break me in two, because I'm beautiful and can find another.

You taught me to be smart, to get a job and a life you never had. I remember you crying for this life, I remember how upset you had been in those days, washing away a spilled milk of a perfection that you didn't understand until it ensnared you. I bore your pain with every blow, do you remember these days? I loved you more than I ever will now, and to me, you were beautiful.

Mom, it isn't fair. I see the new girls, I see them all the time. And everyone will always say, I'm more beautiful than they. But what good ever came of it? They prance on, flaunting what I worked for. Because beautiful, smart girls only attain one type of man, and he is only one type of beautiful. My type of beautiful, made of glass easy to shatter on egos too strong.

All I ever wanted was to be loved. But love isn't true for all the beautiful girls. Love is money. Love is dinners. Love is events and cars driven by foreign men in suits. Love is nearly impossible for the beautiful girls.

When I was a baby, you assured me I'd marry a man with a good job; cursing my life down with your truth.

And wouldn't you say, I got just what I had wanted all along? You left me out again. But what could help it? You were just like me once. I know how blessed we are, what luck I have, but I also wonder, is there more than this? I never meant to come back to being a corporate plaything. I really thought my days as a living doll were over with. Oh, Mom, I wish I could go back...

He seems so happy now, the conversation blunt and pointless, meaningless and fake. Empty, just like me. You have no idea how it hurts me to know that beauty fades so... as I have in his mind. Gone, as if I never existed. Oh, Mom, I wish it weren't so.

And the girl he took for me, she wasn't like us. Everyone said, I was the prettier one. I know, I'd say. I know I'm beautiful. And they'd turn to the side, not knowing how sad it is for me to see. I always asked him not to tell me I'm beautiful.

Promise me, Mom, that I won't be this way forever. Tell me one day I'll reach it, one day will be different. One day I won't need to worry. That it is possible, to be loved for you and not for what you offer. I don't want this anymore than the men I've gone back to dating. But we don't know it any other way, we don't understand. This is all we ever get to give.

And smile at me Mom, as I pass with my McClaren, Tiffany Eternity band on my finger, to my apartment on Fifth Avenue bought by my husband, rich and ever unseen, like they always are.

Smile and tell me I'm more than beautiful. So much more.

What?!

So I bought another piece today, a green quartz that sparkles to no end. It's absolutely gorgeous.

I feel ridiculously pleased for no good reason today.

"Drop that zero and get you a hero!"
-Maury

Diwalli

Diwalli is the Festival of Lights, everything was beautiful today. I felt so loved at my office, I always do these days, so loved by friends, far and near, by a family I'd previously no connection with.

In the Cathedral, the glass broke as I asked... I knew I was heard. Everything was warm, dark amongst so many candles, so many hopes amongst each other, light on light, hope on faith, truth on actuality. Everybody has something, everybody has something.

I know mine isn't much, but it means so much to me. I don't know where it comes from, I don't know where I learned, I don't know where I'm going, but I'm trying my best to keep up, but I meant what I said. And I'm grateful to you, forever to you, for saving me.

I bought myself a new Tiffany piece, today, and felt so whole, so complete. I sent it away to have it customized. I know it'll be beautiful. It's the piece I've been searching for.

Old

My last relationship ended heavily because of an 18 year old. I think he's with a 19 year old now. I told Jay, for the first time in my life, I felt old.

But honestly, these last feel weeks have been both unbearably ugly and beautiful in one. I've never felt so attractive, and yet so ugly somedays. I once read somewhere that 24 is a woman's most beautiful year, then only to read the next month in a publication that 36 is. It' hard to explain how I feel at the moment, at 23. I'm not sad like I was, not angry, either. Not afraid, and for the longest time, I mean this wholly. I meant what I said to Jay, I remembered what it was like to be that 19 year old girl, a 27 year old British Lord at the time, everyone remembers him, one of the key players in my bizarre dating adventures. At the time, I felt like I was being serious, but knew I wasn't. I don't have that fear anymore. The same Park Avenue princes I dated then look at me differently, not necessarily less, but differently, and I admit I'm loving the change. I'm someone to be reckoned with, now. They now think twice about sending me flowers, but the flowers come anyway. I will miss the clubbing nights, the dates with endless partners going nowhere, but now there's more substance, the same number of dates but a different kind. I'm no longer auditioning for a part I'll never have. I can have it now, and the men show that they know it, too. That certain cautious tone in their voice says it all. But they needn't be scared, I know what I want and now I'm sure I'll get it.

And the most unexpected part of this all is the younger men. I never fancied myself somewhat of a budding cougar, but I assume they do. I admit a certain curiosity. After years of being a living doll, I'd like to play the game a bit myself! And who can blame me?

The one thing I long to be better at right now is my job. I have been slacking so much lately, and this isn't me nor is it fair to myself. I want proper success, and that I can give myself so long as I try.

But I want you all to know, I'm no longer afraid. All the fears I had for so long are melting as the days go by, like a long suffered nightmare, only to awake, warm, safe, and laughing at my own misgivings. I want to do this right, and I will. I had it all along, just needed some help bringing it out. It's here. This is my time, my turn, my chance at last.

And I intend to take it, fully and wholly, savoring the moment as I'm afraid so many women I know never could or did. It's mine.

At last.

Thanks to all of you who saw me through, fighting tooth and nail to remain unenlightened. I love you all more than you know.

"Live through this with me, and I will die for you."
-Hole

Social Engagements...

Dinner, parties, get-togethers and group yoga. Such is the spice of life in the city.

Apres L'Amour

Am feeling shiny again.

Merci

So four days and a tan later, I get it, it all makes sense. Ker, you make everything make sense, heal all the horrid things I did.

The world isn't black and white, there isn't any right and wrong that's whole. And anything worth doing isn't ever going to be easy.

James, I'm so sorry I blamed you entirely. I get it now. Sometimes bad things happen, people make desperate mistakes, and sometimes it isn't about anyone else. It doesn't have to be. This wasn't about me, this was about you, and I should have seen that. But I was in shock, I was angry, I felt cheated, and I felt everyone around me was out to get something. But there's fault on both sides and we're even now. It doesn't matter what happened, it doesn't matter.

And what's left to do now but move forward.

Von Voyage!

Vacation tomorrow morns, oh, the odious task of packing!

I need this though, a new start, something fresh. I need to forget. Everything is alright, all is forgiven, and I am well.

Fabulous!

Butterfly

I don't feel angry anymore, really I don't. And I stopped eating today.

After all that happened, my weeks of temporary insanity, of trying to understand, of trying to console, of trying to put everything in place, I realized, underneath it all was this overwhelming feeling of relief. My time, my life, my every thought and being, is now mine. I spent so much time blaming him for taking away from me, I never realized he gave me myself back. I'm free. Free to do and think and feel however I damned well please without any criticizim. Without any nerve wracking feeling of not fitting in, without having to try to be who I'm not.

I put my hair back to blonde. I've bought every single beautiful piece of clothing I could find, no longer restricted to buying for the dive bars we'd go to. I've never felt so attractive. I cannot wait to wear every piece I bought, an excitement I'd long forgotten. I cannot wait to put on my new emerald silk dress, my furs, my new cardigans. I actually want to go to the gym, but don't feel let down if I don't. I drink a latte everyday and eat whatever I like and actually lost ten pounds. I don't wait for the phone to ring.

I took everything off, even my necklace, and stood in front of the full length mirror. And for the first time in too long, I loved everything I saw. I didn't have to hear in my mind those stupid comments I never should have believed; how the bar trash that went before and after me had "bigger tits" (that disgusting word) "better hair" and "smaller thighs." I saw how gorgeous my pallor is, how smooth the curves. It's incredible how much we women compromise to get what we think want. We're great bargainers, so much that, like me, we often sell ourselves. Never again. I tap danced for that stupid man trying to please his low-life cronies for a year and I'm not about to do it again. It took me until now to realize that, all their dirty looks were jealousy. Of me or of him, depending on the gender.

While we were out by Lucky Chang's, the balloon man asked what I'd like for myself. I said I didn't know. He told me I looked new, special, and twisted me a butterfly.

I look around now and see that I'm surrounded by people and things I love and love me. All the men in my life now, if they are allowed to stay, earned their keep and made me feel like every woman should, beautiful and special, celebrated for being unique. I'm free to laugh, free to be whoever I want to. All the time and effort I put into trying to please him is now going to who deserved it all along. I don't hate him, but I know now that I deserve and need above all things, to be loved for who I am, the person he didn't want to meet. I have that now, and promise to never forget that ever again. To never live like that again, forgetting who I'd always been.

Thank you, for letting me fly.

Raining Men?

"Well, the thing is, we kind of thought you were, you know, like kidding." - Sher

So Chrissy came round again like always and we had a casual dinner in the park. He laughed at the breakup and said he always knew I was a liar. I told him I had no idea what he meant. He said: "I refuse to believe that you were not the center of attention for an entire year and that you were able to deal."

And then:

"And we both know, you NEVER pay for drinks."

And you know, I laughed, because he's right. We went over all the times he rescued me, all the crazy situations me and Sher and Ash and Bre and Sar and Sash got into over the years, the parties we went to, always with some dubiously infamous B-Lister. All the trust fund babies of bizarre circumstance I know. How I peed on Queensway in Hyde Park, Piccadilly Square still in light. How I got an ex I had nothing to do with finance a 21st birthday party - at the club with the vibrating floor - 2 years after the fact. The time I drank the entire bottle of wine and spoke French to some natives. The phase I went through where I tried to get into sports and ended up with my face painted at a Red Sox bar. The time me and Ash flew in those boys from London, and me and Sher had our share of drinks from an Irish soccer league. The time we wormed into the Balducci's bachelor party. The time I almost fell in the fountain in front of the Plaza, all the crazy times I enjoyed over the years with my friends, being myself. I never got to be that person around James, and never will. I had be resigned, maybe I was seeking a security I felt he could give, but in the end, you get bored of giving so much and getting so little. Yes, I was in love, but i never should have given so much of myself to hanging out with his friends who I knew from day one were not my perfect fit. I'm too old for them, in truth. They were fun sometimes, but I never got be the girl everyone of my friends says they're happy to have back.

I'm older now and what becomes a 21 year old doesn't a professional woman. I can forever remember that a man bought a BMW to please me, but in the end, I'm beyond those things now. But I'm not beyond having fun, and I never knew I would and could without him. The beautiful thing is, I'm beginning to remember what I had thought I lost, I feel beautiful. I feel exciting. I feel fabulous again. I'm not giving up and I have my mystery back.

"So how long before he comes back?"

He never knew me for what I am. He never went out with me with my friends, and for some reason I hid the person I can be, I wouldn't let him in on my interests, didn't give enough of myself to allow him in. He didn't want to know. And never will. I sent my email and he didn't reply because he doesn't want to change. I did so much changing for him and unnecessarily so, never again. It was so stupid. Cathy Jay should never have left the party. I should have never, ever hid. No man was ever worth that back in the day, and James was not the one; he's proven that. I will miss him for a while, he was something no one else will be, but maybe being alone isn't so bad. And if I were to ever do it again, I'd do it all differently. I'll never let myself fade again, never put up so much time worrying about fitting in when I've made a life of standing out. It was wasted time and effort. There was no need to hide. Everything would have gone better had I just been myself.

I am sad sometimes, angry others, but I'm getting out of it more and more each day. I have my life back, and in ways, couldn't be happier. Chrissy always told me, like so many other men, what a wonderful wife I'd make. But I'm beginning to see, how much I'm not ready for that yet, how little I really do want to be that woman just yet. I'm getting used to my new status and not afraid anymore.

Not afraid, not now, ever again. Amen.

"Walk with purpose. If you can't do it, get up try again." - Tennille, my "mentor"

Blonde Ambition

And after all that, I remembered, I'm a natural blonde. The roots are beginning to show, and I can tell you, it's the best color I've had.

Onto the important things; my job. I've been lagging behind too long now, time to pick up the pace. I want to do better and I will. I just have to have faith and focus, and I can have that now. I don't want to let anyone down. I have to be focused on all this.

Sher and I figured out that everything and everyone in our lives can be compared to shoes in our closet. And the beautiful thing is, we each have nearly 100 pair.

Love to all of you, who had faith. And may you all shine on in your roots.

Working through It

Am doing better this week though am still having random outbursts. Am so angry at said individuals. But I put down the phone today and went to the gym and just got on the treadmill and ran, ran, ran until I couldn't feel angry anymore for lack of energy. And then I came home and had a good cry, miserable that I can be so angry without any sort of outlet.

It is just not fair that I can be forgotten after an entire year. It is not fair that he should get away scotch free and I should have to suffer. It is not fair that someone would want to do this to me and then tell me, "Oh, you're very nice." I want to break his new car. I want to break his face in. I want him to hurt as much as I do.

But what good would that do to anyone? He's a worthless human being, like so many others, and I will get through this. Daniel called to take me out again, B. invited me to Michigan, K. invited me to Virginia Beach. I dropped J. because she was no good. There is an end to all this pain, whether or not I see it.

I'm Thinking About My Doorbell... When You Gonna Ring It?!

Hmmm. Some conversation for the first time since the big fight, seemed to go smoothly. Oddly suspicious.

Ok, are we like done with this break now?

Worth It

So I had lobster and white wine again like the old days. He took me around, all over the city, the beautiful places I remember. I wore shoes and got all dressed up in perfect hair and jewelry. It felt good to be that girl again, the person I'd missed without knowing it. I admired a crab cake on another table, "Go and ask for it," he said, like it was nothing. The waitor brought me two. We walked through the lit park and I felt happy again, free to discuss art and culture and know the other person was listening, I'd forgotten what being listened to meant.

He said, "What took you so long to call me again? I waited for you." I couldn't answer, I didn't know. But I was happy to know I am worth the wait.

I felt valued, I felt like I mattered. I'd lost that feeling in all this mess, a year of my time given over for a cheap thrill in Mexico.

"What are you thinking?" he asked. Nothing, I tell him. Nothing. "Is there anything else you need? Let me know and I'll get it for you."

So much, I want to say. So much, and more still.

But I'm not holding any expectations. He's the same as I left him, a pretty, wonderful thing like fireworks, meant to flash in and out, never lasting too long. Or will it? The ball is in my hands now, I like knowing that.

I went to the geyser today only to find out what I had admired for long was only a fountain constructed for wedding photos. I guess it's like that; a year of something beautiful only to see that maybe it wasn't after all. He says he thinks it can be good again, when did he ever have the power to make that choice? Who gives him any of that? Not me, never again. I ran the same Reservoir as Jackie O., alone. The sun was beautiful, he always promised me we'd run together. That never happened, no surprise there. But it was beautiful, just going and doing it, not waiting to be lied to with these empty promises. I deleted his friends, I deleted his number. If he had anything to say, he'd have said it. If he comes up with anything else, he'll have to come to me to say so.

I'm still sad, but angry more now, at myself. For letting it get that far, for forgetting that I am and always was worth the lobster and white wine. That if I am ever to need anything, I have friends and strangers willing to give it.

That I am worth a wait, and then some.

November 2nd

I want to just give up, to crumble into a ball and sleep all day long. I want to stop going to work, to stop trying to be anything but a waste. I just want to eat, sleep and cry.

All I can think about, is how no one wants me. No one needs me around, no one cares. It hurts so much to know I've failed again, and here I am alone, again.

I can't take much more of this, in truth.

Of all the women he dated, all those wasteful, whiney women, no jobs, no lives, no goals other than to land someone to take care of them, it just hurts me to know I was the one he did this to. It was me, I stood out from all the rest; I wasn't afraid to be without him; he figured I'd be ok. Worthless, I'm worthless, so much that only the trash his cousin dates, that drunk, was worthy of being protected where I wasn't. He just isn't ready to grow up, isn't ready, isn't ready. When did he decide I was ready, that he was even good enough? Who told him that? Presumptious scumbag. And it would be so easy for me to break him down, I know all the right buttons, but what good would it do? He wanted to be left alone - so much that he took this desperate plea at some 18 year old, he's got the rest of his sorry life.

But you fall off, you get back on. I can't immerse myself in problems that aren't mine. I have no desire though, no willingness to go through this again. This one, another banker, another trust fund baby, maybe that's what I'm good for. I can't even concentrate on my job, I'm so angry, so sad, so happy all these emotions, a constant swing of things.

But I did better today, hardly any tears. I just need a good rest, a nap that lasts all day, some time to listen to sad music and cry my eyes out. Everyone has a solution, a new man I must meet, date, everyone is rushing to me, quick to insult him, beat him down verbally, even his own friends write me! Everyone pities the woman scorned.

All I can think of is the facts. He lied about everything, and I never got to Hawaii. He didn't enjoy talking to me, the precious moments on the phone I looked forward to, any moments on the weekend. Torture for him, to the point where he was literally running away to Mexico to get away from me. What did he think, I was going to chase afterward? I respect the man enough, even now, to let it go.

I want to go back to the start, I don't like being here now.

Je Suis Ici

I decided a long time ago I didn't want to become my mother. I hold to that, to this day. My mother is a woman with a lot of secret regrets, things I know she wanted and couldn't do, a woman who had to make choices in her life. And this is a big part of who I am, watching her. And there are a lot of things I can tell you, things I can recount reason for the way I am the way I am, but what would be the point? I think it all speaks for itself.

I go through emotional phases, sometimes I'm angry, sometimes I terribly sad, sometimes violent, sometimes filled with such happiness I feel almost going to burst. I've felt beautiful though, these last few days, beautiful. I got up and put on new clothes, bought new jewelry, did my makeup for the first time in weeks, left the house without a push-up. I've felt like myself again.

And one thing is, I'm just so angry. I'm so cheated, I feel so let down. I sit and compare this with so many other men who've come through, he never asked about those; afraid of how he'd compare. Men who taught me business ethics, men who bought me new clothes, new friends, new identities. Men who gave me new perspectives, men who gave me morals. Men who took me for everything I had, men who gave their all. I'm fortunate to have known so many different men in my life, all with their own bizarre story, all with their own place.

And I know there is a man out there who is meant for me. But I'm not thinking of that right now. And I know, this time, I really gave. I really gave. And I don't believe in regretting anything I can't change.

What I want is for people, when they ask me about the situation, is to see me. Not to make endless references to the metaphorical Mr. Right that is supposively always around the corner, or to carry on about what they thought of him, both good and bad. These things don't matter. The world thinks a woman's life is worthless without a man, so much that it doesn't matter how offended she is, only that she knows that the right man is coming; as if this were all she could look forward to. My mother had so many sad regrets I never could see it that way. And I could go on for a hundred years and rationalize and criticize and analyze but the truth is, it isn't worth it, and straying from that is to get off topic and useless in itself. What I need now is to get away from all that.

What bothers me most is ambiguity. But I suppose my own thoughts on the topic are elusive too. But I see things differently now, its stupid to say but its true. I don't envy those girls like I used to. For the first time in a long time, my life is mine. I'm not afraid of the nonsense that everyone will tell me, how I can look forward to a "better man." How I can now have the banker I somehow convinced everyone was the object of my fantasies. How pretty i look and thin, too! How now I can come back out, go to parties like I used to, persue the "right" kind of man, the ones with the Amex black cards. How I should give Daniel a call now, how he's been devastated since the last time. How they always knew I'd end up with so and so, how they knew this wasn't right, how surprised they were that it even lasted as long as it did. I don't need to hear the limits people want to put on me, these expectations of this fantastical "great match" - what does this mean anyway?!- they all see me with now. I know who and what I am. I know what I need and what I want, and know it more now than ever. I'm not afraid to love the woman who's life is apparently worth nothing on its own.

And I refuse to walk with my head down. My mother did enough of that for so long, for fear of letting go would somehow upset everyone around her. I don't care, its so empowering to say. I don't care. I'm seeing, really seeing. And I may be sad, I may be angry, I may feel ugly and eve agree that I am worthless at times, but I'm here.

I am not giving you anymore of me.

List?

CONFIDENCE KILLERS: JEN. CHAS. B.
CONFIDENCE BUILDERS: Sher, Crims, Al, Genev, my job.

FEEL GOOD DAY: Work, shopping, a walk in the city/park, driving in the Bronx, drinking champagne, going in a pool.
FEEL BAD DAY: Sleep, Jen, eating, not going to the gym.

BAD MEN: Jonathan.
GOOD MEN: James. Chrissy. Sean. Steve. "Hot Ed." Tim, (on occasion). Dom & Anthony. Matthew O. Alex in England

BAD IDEA: Spending too much, eating too much, drunk texting, losing control, anything too tight/loose.
GOOD IDEA: Being strangely fine, trying on clothes whilst looking dead into the full-length mirrors, acceptance, chilling out, thinking before talking.

Fireflies

And what is to become of me? When the sun started coming up, I remembered the fireflies we caught in July years ago, how we'd chase and chase and chase, and when we finally got them, how we'd kept them, hoping they'd last long into the summer, until Mom was no longer tolerant of bugs in her house. But the thing was, once you finally caught them, they died... trying so hard to keep them is what lead to their demise. And Daddy, I know I cry everytime they go, I know you don't want to hear it, won't give me the jar to keep them in, but I still haven't learned on my own. Daddy I let another one go. Daddy I tried too hard. And now, there are no flies left.

And Daddy, this one was so special to me.

I had a dream this morning about the fireflies. There was a long, empty roaming field, and it was hot, balmy like those Julys years ago. It was swarming with the flies, all the pretty lights everywhere. But I didn't catch them this time, I didn't move. I just stood, waiting with hands outstretched for them to come to me and stay.

And in the end, one did.

4 Weddings and a .... David B.?

Ummm, ok, so when did everyone else's life get so interesting without mine?! Am bored out of my skull in NYC. All the lingerie in America cannot make me feel the least bit sexy these days as I feel like a shapeless frump at MMG. A shapeless talentless frump. Hate my new boss, hate the Bronx, hate cheap drinks, need a change. I'm bored. I'm losing my fabulous.

But maybe, these married friends think the same thing. I mean the rest of their lives will be with one person. It's all decided now. At least I've the freedom in knowing that decision has yet to be made for me. Right? why is everyone moving on ahead of me?!!!!!!!

Right.

Ok. So I need a new job. So I need to go back to school and get some moola. I need to stop being rude.

I need to relax!!!

All is looking fabulous as just booked my trip for Sarah's wedding. I'm excited to carry on and look fabulous in my dress. Going alone really means something to me; honestly. I never want to lose Miss Johnson.

And you know the older I get, the more I grapple with that, enjoying just being Miss Johnson. I'm rocking the Miss. I want everything the best, all mine. Good clothes, good home, good salary, good job above all. I want everything.

To Mary Lizzo, the Original

I was an ugly little girl. My father tells me this isn’t true, and only recently had you started agreeing with him. But a father’s eyes are biased. I knew what I was, and everyone who saw me then knew, too. I knew because I didn’t understand. I knew because I had a yearning, a never ending hunger in me, growing as I did; wanting so much to be a part of something, and knowing that beauty was the only way out.
I do remember sitting in front of the mirror, even then, staring into my face, assessing what I liked and didn’t. My face is yours. We look the same, we speak in the same booming tones, we hide the same mysteries, the same worries, the same shattered hopes, glass under the carpet. Ever since I was born its been this way. So remarkable are our similarities that I find my thoughts are often yours. I can see yours, even though I’m sure you think I don’t. You were the one who gave me this, the ability to see what is lying underneath the carpet, this sense.
But there are things I have and you envied. My hair is thick and full, and if I leave it alone, as you say, it curls. I don’t like my curls, the hair nature gave me; I love it soft, long, curved at the bottom and blown sleek. It’s always been fairer than yours, I didn’t inherit the dark hair of either of my parents. My eyes are my own. Green, unlike anyone else in our family. Dark and deep, filled with emotion and imagination. I used to tell people that they were an incomplete dominance between your brown and Dad’s blue. I was right, but only loosely. My eyes are my essence; two nature fighting in me, two people to live within one body.
I am told we look like someone who died. Someone who no one mentioned until I was older, until I asked who she was, having heard her name loosely thrown around in conversation. I often think about her, this woman. Dead at twenty one, heart problems, the kind you say we don’t have in our family. I want to see her photo, I want to put it up on my mirror along with my endless other pictures; England and Prince Harry, an “M” from high school, my cousin and I in London. I want to put her face next to mine. I want to see where I come from.
I want to know her, talk to her. Was she like me? Did she have dreams and aspirations, things she wanted to do but perhaps coudln;t because she was ill? One of your aunts, I can never remember, they remember her. Coming from the subway from work (did she work?) and running into her arms. Who was this woman, what purpose did she serve to those around her? Was she the type of woman who’d you’d run into? This girl who died when she was the age I am now. This girl who wore our face before either of us existed, before anyone knew our names, understood our prescence. I believe she was small because you are, I believe she had our hips, I perceive her wearing my hair, thick and full, even though I know this is a trait from my Irish side and none of your own. I want to think she was happy, but I know this isn’t true. I feel her. I feel her here now more than anyone then could feel her, even that aunt who ran into her arms from the subway. She was strong, like I am, she understood unhappiness. She was sad. She felt alone, she knew she was going to die and was afraid most of not death but of not living. Of no longer being able to breathe. That last breath she took, she felt it. But when she lived, she was strong. She could bear all of her pain and everyone else’s too. She bore the pain of poverty, of immigration, of children too small to know she was ill. She had room to love everyone so much that she left herself behind, cursed with the fate of never seeing full adulthood. I think she wanted children. I think she wanted love. I think she knew it was something too much, something she could not have.
It wasn’t until I was odler did people stop calling me ugly. It wasn’t until I was older I learned about this woman. It wasn’t until then I knew that I was beautiful just like she was. She was so beautiful that the world didn’t keep her. I bet she turned men’s heads as she walked down the street, but more women’s, as women do turn at jealousy, a poison we all love to drink. Beauty is an illusion, I’ve always said, bewildered by the different lives I’ve lived. When I knew I was beautiful, the world around me did, too. I’m not sure if she cried when she knew her life would end, but I know she cried and often. With beauty comes pain, you told me as you burned my hair with the iron as a child. This woman had pain. This woman bore pain for everyone else, and in the end, cried only for herself. She wanted to belong to someone, to something. She came into this world beautiful and alone and left it just the same.
I want to think they cried at her funeral. There is a sick sweet meaning in it, to see the distraught faces of her mother and father, but mostly her mother. Did that aunt cry the loudest? Did they beat the coffin as it went in? Did the community send money and flowers? How come we’ve left her to buried, why does no one remember her funeral? Why does no one think of her on the holidays, no one call out her name at Mass in prayer? Why have we let her go?
I want to yell out everytime I get your answer to these questions in me, that no one remembers, it was so long ago. No one cares to remember a woman dead longer than she lived. No one cares to remember her, this woman people took for granted, pain they put in her to carry, so much it killed her. I want to yell out, I want to kick, I want to scream and badger you like a child until you tell me. Until the secrets are unveiled, until she is real again.
(I know you keep them, I know they are in you.)
But I believe she is happy now. And I believe she watches over us, you and me, characterizations of beauty in all its forms, tradgedy and excellence, talent and greed, kindness and severity. She gave her face to you and you gave it to me. Our lives are touched by this woman who never really left the world at twenty one. I have her thoughts and her face, and I like to think her eyes were green. And for her and for me, who lived with a fear of being forgotten for so long, I will mention her here. I will scream out her name in the streets, I will ride the subway and fall into her arms. I will cry her tears over this keyboard, I will long for the wedding she never had. I will cry for her, this woman we never knew and yet know so well, I will set her pain free, making it real. I want everyone to know her. I want to bring myself closer. I want to hold her hand and talk to her like I would with any other girl my age. I want to be her friend.
I want to carry her pain.
We make her memory real everyday, I think that was where we are damned. Looking like this woman, serving as an angry reminder to those people who buried her name along with her body, made her a hushed topic among dinner. Her pain, her unhappiness is reflected in every one of our frowns, her happiness in our smiles. Our laughter must sound likes hers, our hips sway likes hers. Our small hands and feet, our tiny nails, our long necks, our perfect ears, all her own. Our pain is nothing new, she gave us this too. Our tears taste as hers did. Our skin, soft and pale, yours still unwrinkled, I know why. It isn’t ours at all. We will never get old, she never did. We will forever be young, we will forever be this way, beautiful and tradgic. We will forever see more than is immediate to the eye, more than anyone else can see. Because we’ve seen it before, we know it and understand it and have contemplated it before.
We are her.
And together, maybe, the three of us, we aren’t alone.

Career

I do not want to be an analyst. I will find a job I love.

Beating a Dead Horse?

I want to promise myself that no matter what happens I will remember I who I am. They can't take that out of me, no one will be allowed that.

I came to some startling revelations this weekend about what I miss and what I'm willing to give. I feel so tarnished and alone these days. As if all the glitter faded and left what I am today. There are things I want to change, things I work to change, and things I can't change. But maybe I'm too liberal with the latter of these. I wanted to get up and run, run, run back into a place where I felt secure and comfortable. I don;t feel that way these days. I feel cold hard truth setting in. I feel glum. I feel like I'm losing everyone and everything I knew to be right and true to older age, a strange abyss where what I desire in some ways is only looked down on. Is this how all these girls feel? Resentful yet afraid? I don;t want to be afraid of anything, I want more than anything to be happy.

I'm not sure exactly what to pinpoint as the reason I noted for this change. Something did. Something fell out. Something made me take off the pretty lenses and see. Like a bad taste though, I can't seem to stop approaching it.

Big Brown lost the Triple Crown today, first hopeful ever to come in last. I watched that DaTara win and thought how typical, as if I saw the race before. Big Brown just gave up. I don't want to throw it all away for someone I don't find worthy. Am I giving in out of sheer disgust or out of fear of losing? Am I throwing in the cards for hate of the game, or do I truly hate my partner in it? Is it silly to contemplate? I worry about my impulses.

Things I know to be true are I love myself more than anyone, a love I learned because I lacked. Everything is dull and gray today. I don;t want to feel badly about myself ever again, and will never let another person tell me what is true about me. I'm taking that back, you can;t have what I worked so hard for and you tried to take once. This is mine. And I an be miserable and angry and upset and down and have not one positive thought in my mind, but I will always own them. I will always own me. And I am beautiful. I am not worthless. And I deserve beautiful, loving things around me. I deserve all that is light.

Love me how I need, don't ask me what I don't know. Don't push me, don't push me. Be delicate... the skin is tender where it's just healed. I only look strong, I'm fragile and calm, waiting between the trees. Trying to understand.

Disgust.

So have come to a solution and in order with that, no more. You wanna sit and carry on with that thing I'm ok with that. Fuck you.

Peaceful Evening

So the summer is in full swing in NYC (signifyed by the endless stream of bikini clad Brooklyn girls.)

And my recent bout of annual summer insomnia is back. I was meant to go to the gym tonight but just did a pilates tape half-assed instead. I needed the strong soothing sensation of the wind on my skin from the ceiling fan. I jsut took and bath and vacuumed.

And I'm ready for bed. At last.

23.

A delicious birthday today as had the entire day with my favorite. Went to the Central Park Zoo, Tiffany's, Macy's, then Tffany's again for the first thing I tried on. Had a dinner in Little Italy and ate nothing but crap today whilst wearing fur shoes. Poor James came along everywhere, never questioning. I knew I was getting away with murder. Jen said he must have been running off the bus after we got back, I dragged him around like I did, but I didn't care. I got my day with him and the perfect commemoration. (I pick it up tomorrow.) He's off to Lousiana, (the other L.A.) tonight, so hopefully my neurotic behavior will be wiped out in the drink. I have too much guilt for no reason. He's funny.

Irish grandpa gave a good gift, Jen sent hers, and Italian grandparents donated to the cause as well. Irish and parents gifts go straight to Bloomingdales to fund my own gift to myself, but really I ought to put them in Fidelity. (Irish grandpa is always crazy generous and this year is no exception. Though I won't tell S & Skeeve my gift was double theirs...)

So the big birthday weekend is upon us and I'm so over it. PMS has me with my usual indecisive melancholy. I'm not myself. Sher called and left about 17 messages about all the things we must do. Friday is the movie with Genevs, Sats afternoon LWL and yoga, Sats night is out with Sher. We're going to the sex shop to pick out some new fun (Sher says I need color and O is the only way to go, according to her, so I'm given the limit of 9 inches and up... ) then off to the clubs at 3am. Ever since I was 18 it's been the same way. I'm extremely grateful for Sher, I really am. You need that one friend in your life who just doesn't give; Sher gives me that freedom. I wonder if she remembers like I do, Washington Square Park at 5AM, 81st and 3rd at 8. The way all the lights shone when we got in. The entrances she taught me to make; you know she bought me my first mixed drink? I was 17 and we were at Favia, a Modori Sour. We've been trying to track down the waitor ever since, Sher's mysterious Mr. Right.

But that seems so long ago now. I look at all the photos we took, silly girls. There is the one where I'm on the fountain in the Theory skirted suit with those Parade shoes, the water coming up in geysers behind us. It was taken just minutes before I fell in and the British soccer team dragged me out, ("cahnIgibyoooooooooa ahand DAHHHHHHLING?") We got in the car and just drove, drove. All the lights were up and everyone was out, the air was cool and we were soaked anyway. We never made it back to the apartment to sleep, we stayed out until 3pm the next afternoon. I don't even think I gave Jen an explaination; she didn't ask back then. The next year we went out with the Yuppies, I was single that year and properly unhappy about it. Sher ended up topless in a cab and I was at cafeteria taking to our cameraman. I watched the videos recently, eyes shimmering with MAC I look like a Las Vegas drag queen. The next year I was in London, drank wine in England's oldest bar with my newfound friends. When I got back, Sher and me went out, but it lost its lust after it was legal. I had on a fedora and silk shorts with suspenders and pink garters to hold up the stockings. I saw Madonna and drove a Mustang. There are pictures of that somewhere, Sher's eyes, just full of fear, sitting in the passenger's seat, Mike the Doctor in the backseat, happy to give Sher his car. The next year I threw a party and the British financials came through.

And this year, I have accomplishments:

1. After 10 years, I met up with and have been enjoying being with my childhood crush.

2. I got a job and a promotion.

3. I became a better person.

4. I learned to relax more.

5. I joined and have kept a habit of going to the gym.

6. I made new friends and went new places.

7. I learned to enjoy beer.

8. I got rid of Chrissy.

9. I bought everything I wanted.

10. I got my Tiffany signature piece!!!!!!!!!

11. I got my liscense.

12. Everything I wanted to do, I went for it. Full speed.

So a wine spritzer for all, and a happy birthday to me. Many more, many more.

"Drink comes in at the mouth, Love comes in at the eye, I lift glass to you, and sigh." -Cherry

R E S P E C T

When I signed up I didn't register for all this. These things are mine and mine alone and I deserve the same I give.

And truth be told, I don't give a damn how they arrive or if they ever do. Truth be told, I'm not 100%.

I'm just seeing the picture a little bit different this week.

(Time for a change?)

Nip it at the bud, nip it at the bud, babe.

(Just a little bit...)

HEEL!

Oh No, Not Again!

Is he kidding?!

I just stood there, thinking of nothing but him laughing at the situation. And you know, he had nerve to text me later.

WHY?!

(Hadn't I put up with enough from that end?! Anymore dubious skeletons from my closet to erupt disguised as close personal friends and relatives of my new life?!)

It was like being naked in Times Square. Thank God his memory, last I remember anyway, wasn't too good, so even if he did make the correlation necessary he wouldn't care enough to make something of it. I'm okay with that. I'm okay not revisiting that chapter of my existence. We're good.

And I really do owe you something, you kept quiet. Whether out of lack of concern or complete disgust I'm not interested to know, but you did. And I'll do the same for you.

Setting In

Talking to Ali tonight in England and he commented I surprised him; he couldn't have told months ago here I'd be. But there is something in that, drinking a beer I paid for and wearing a T-shirt. There was the time on Queensway, right outside of Hyde Park in the green silk dress I'd bought solely for that occasion, where I looked up and knew I'd get it. I never wanted to leave but the inevitable happened like always and the plane flew away back to things I couldn't do. I never understood them, the girls I'd so envy, smiling laughing creatures lazing on beds of lush grass that was endlessly greener than my own. I'd watch them all, standing in the rain of my own perceived loneliness, and know I wanted what they had.

But the truth is this; I never respected men. I never understood because I didn't know; and maybe some of this was purposeful, my secret nurturing side I so try to conceal like a battered woman's bruises. It was never something to pained but more or less a blessing if you use it right. And I can feel it awakening, growing in me as I get older. They do make you laugh, their secret helplessness. And you do find yourself enjoying their friends, like a pack of little boys. I missed out on things like that for just the right amount of time, I think. The answers they give you when you ask personal questions, the look they give you when you embarrass them, the quiet loathe when they figure out you're just pushing buttons, the pout when they're really upset, the tone when you hurt their feelings, the thrill when you call after just a little bit, the inquiry in their eyes when they're trying to read you. Precious.

But I stopped envying those girls just recently. Events of this year are turning my mind in so many different perspectives. I never thought the time I spent would benefit anyone, and I'd be at the end of the line, overjoyed as if some ordeal had passed. But the truth is is I never lost the most important thing. I'd never give her away for anything, and I never want to be in a position where I'd consider it, I love her too much to let that happen. I always want to be who I'm here, I want to know she;s safe and all her moments were recorded for a reason, some vain attempt at immortality as the inevitable may eventually happen and Miss Johnson becomes a Mrs. But even if it never does, I no longer fear that. And I'm glad I stood in my rain because I think it was necessary. I don't have that fear, I was never afraid. And when I do get there, I just think of all the amazing things they brought me. Some I pity, some I never knew, some I loved, and some I want to tell off. Who would I be today if not for them? And all that pain I sorted through recently, and got out all the photos, and I can't remember some of the names, but I'll always know how I acted.

Maybe she's angry because of that? A certain envy in the beautiful story I get to write out. And the women I most respect in my life were girls like me, who didn't always get it. And there is a marked difference between women and girls; flashy cubic zirconias against understated brilliant pearls. I adore my cousin more than almost anyone, she is really one of my best friends. And Crims, I want the best for her as well, I think she;s getting there. She is stronger than all of us. want to have that understated brilliance, a quiet elegance and demeanor. I want to be that dignified. I really do want that. I want to be Ellen, not Scarlett. And it makes me sad to think a lot of my friends won't understand this. Of course, I'd never wish bereavement on anyone, nor the end of something perhaps beautiful. But is it really neediness that men seek out? I'd like to hope not. But you have to sort through it, the endless times I was told I was cold. That wasn't it; I only gave what I could get.

I have been very happy ever since I left school. I learn something new everyday; a new reason to step out of the rain. and I wish that for everyone.

Ugly

I want to apologize every time we talk of it, because you're so perfect. There are things I don;t want to hit your ears, words I don;t want you to understand, a picture I don't want you to see. I don;t want you to know the truth.

And you, you disgusting selfish piece of humanity, I can't believe you'd do that. I wanted to scream at you every time I take you around the things I love, you destroy them. Why do you need to be this way? Why, after then ten thousand years we've traveled past this road do you feel the need to do this to me? I hate you for what you do to the people I love. But in the end, I know it's all you. You're just a sad, cynical bitch who never thought of anyone else but herself. Why do you need to be this way?! Why must you go out of your way to be as mean as possible to me? Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you to Hell and I hope yours is plastered wall to wall with photos of me. I want you to see my face everywhere when you sleep. Let's put up all the photos you denied. Let's paper the walls with the face that looks just like yours with the bruises you inflicted because you were miserable.

But in the end, I can't do that. You once said to me, I'll never be bigger than you. You got it wrong again. I'm bigger than you now. I can do things you never will be able to, I can see things you are blind to. I put up with you and stuck by you no matter how bad it got, that time you left me in the street all alone because of a B+, do you remember that? No, because, it simply didn't happen, did it? Oh, just another thing I did to hurt your feelings! Mean old Cathy!

It did. I know because I found my own way home. And when I got there, I realized you left because you couldn't come with me.

You don't belong there. Maybe you know that, secretly. I always said you were intelligent.

And in a way, I'm sad for you. You'll never get to know what I learned. You'll never know the person you thought you created. You shut it off so you can't now. And I'll feel sorry for you.

Again, I got there. No matter what you did to prevent it. Here I am.

I'm here now.

And I won't let you touch her. I won't let you have her like you had me. I won't let your words reach her ears to rot her brain like yours. I want her to be free. I want her to feel worth it, to know that I'm proud no matter what she does, no matter who she is, I want her to know that I'll stand by her and won't leave her standing alone. I'll let them have her, I'm very lucky really, I was saved. I want her to know them, I don't want her to be able to see the difference. They're more perceptive than you think, really. And there comes a time when I'd have to choose, and please be clear who my loyalty stands with. Don't be deceived in thinking that I gratify you for anything, and don't think that I've any desire to. I tolerate you because I have to, I love my brothers very deeply. I want her to have a sense of wholeness, so there is this as well. But I know you, and I know what you're going to do, and don't think I'm going to do anything to help your cause. I'll explain to her, you're just a nice old lady who was unhappy, and it isn't her fault.

And that if you hurt her, in any way, I will do something about it. That your threats and your words hold no relevance once they enter into a certain ground, and if they do, that's when we go home. I don't care what nonsense you believe, and I don't care that you're always right because I figured out long ago that that wasn't true. (you never seemed to be able to accept that, you know, and I think that's where you fell in) You touch her at all, you tell her the things you told me, you let her in on that tone of voice you used with me, I'm not going to stand for it. It would be my job to protect her, and I think what you did to me was most detrimental. I'd never let you make her cry or feel less than herself. No. I'm taking her away. Because I think she is a blessing. You never got to feel that way about your own. And in a way, I'm very sad for you. Because I can only imagine what a devastating loss that must be. I want her to be empathetic, I do, but when she's old enough to understand.

But what will you do? You'll be all alone. And I'm not taking you in. Not out of spite, but out of knowledge that there are things I cannot change, and you are one of them. You hurt me as much as you please, but I can't let you do that to the people I love. I'm sorry it has to be this way. And to know you're not just makes all the difference. I never really noticed it until I bought him in, after seeing his loud, happy family, behavior I don't understand fully as of yet, but I'm learning... and the contrast made me want to cry because I could tell he was uncomfortable. And it is beautiful I didn't miss that. It is beautiful that I can do that now. I learned what you couldn't teach me.

And in an odd way, I love you very much. You are my mother, and I'm only going to have one. I do wish things were, different.

But the truth is, I got home that day. I found it in the end, and years later I do remember.

Here I am.

I hope you'll find your way here soon. If you stick by me, I'll lead you to it.

As soon as you're ready to stop walking away.

With a Little Help from My... Friends?

Thank you, gentlemen, for pushing to my pull. I'll lift my glass to you, and give to you all the prettiest curtsy I can manage in my billowing white chiffon. And you'll know from behind the veil, it took your vote to get us here. Thank you; very much, in fact.

All of my affection. And then some!

Sickles and Crabbles

Head is full of phelgm and cannot hear properly from left ear. Work is driving me mad. If this stress takes out my hair again, I'll scream. I'm not built for this. MCE is coming through tomorrow; I'm very excited to meet 180 year old Jim. It's all about who you know.

Had a wonderful walk in the rain this evening. Got word from Mike from Regis, gave me the nickname on facebook he had for me when we were 14. Funny how old you get. He is a model now, and properly vain. Aren't they all when you no longer care? Has beens. But he is pretty to look at. He was always tall and his hair is less orangey; a true red now. I hope he's well, we were sad kids. Reading his profile, (which, of course, was the point of the nickname; I fell right in) and again, of course, he's recently broken-hearted over some California girl who's skinny and wears dark glasses from American Apparel; you know the type. I bet she only eats bean sprouts and has beliefs about changing the world so we all wear burlap and live off of brown rice and work at coffee shops for below minimum wage to save our zen. Stupid boy. Why are men so entranced by nonsense? And why do they, after seeing it, decide to call on me?! I've no desire to relive the past. Not his, anyway. You know, everyone laughed at the picture you gave me with that huge teddy bear, remember it? You were sitting on a dome somewhere in your Albany home, head cast to the side; the curtain of red hair you had then falling to the side. My mother put it up on the refrigerator because she thought it was hilarious. But in all honest and my illness aside, it's good to see you're well, you haven't changed.

Wine with Bre last night yielded some revelation and some discovery. It was good to see her be strong in possibly the hardest of all moments. I worry about her. I have renewed faith she'll be ok. I hope it all works out for the best; she has a beautiful new tattoo with wisps that form a heart with "Faith" written in the center. The night was beautiful, we went to the tea room and sat outside amongst the Christmas lights and the fair air that comes in early May. I told her I finally understood. I'd fly to Guyana too, if I had to. I felt it, too. Keep strong, Bre.

This cold medicine is making me giddy. Am starting to worry everyone at my job thinks I'm empty-headed. But the truth of the matter is they're useless. It's good to know I'm finally learning my job, though.

Feeling slightly sad and oddly complacent tonight; the rain is making such a pretty sound on the windowpane. Jess invited me to a pending reunion at FIT. I'm not so sure I want to go. But if it's another excuse to dress up and to drink some wine, why not? I'd love to see Nikki. I do miss her. I ought to give her a call. But I just run out of energy.

Craby and mean tonight. Bah bah bah.

Reunion Weekend

The beauty of such a weekend is that it reminds you of how much you really miss people you've spent the last five years despising. I really have missed these girls, and I was very glad to see them again.

When I think of all the things I thought back then, all the words I'd said about them, (I've written all down as is the habit, for fear one day I'll forget) I want to go back and change it all. I really wanted nothing more than to belong to something, be a part of a group, it's what I've always wanted, and going back, I see that that option was always available. Maybe they feared me just as much as I did them. Maybe we've disserviced eachother? I miss you all, I do. And seeing you, reminded me of my own worth. What is it about seeing a group of women in your same station and then spending a weekend with a group of men perhaps not that can make you appreciate so much more who you are? I remember everything, how I prized these girls, these beautiful girls who hit the marble floors with such grace I felt ugly beyond reason in the same vicinity. That didn't happen again.

And isn't funny that we're all, really, all the same? I once wrote that piece about feeling like a blaring red stroke on a canvas of lilac, I don't need to feel that way now, and wish I didn't feel that way then. I wish I knew then, who to tell to go to Hades, who to stick by. I wish I knew then why I was angry, why I felt the way I did. I wish I could label it then as I did now. Krissy, Krissy who I prized above all, told me she was unhappy. I had to admitt I don't feel that way anymore. I let go.

And Ma, when I thought of you in the bar with these girls, these girls you blamed for being crazy, the school for driving me to be the disappointment I was, when I tried to conjure up your face, Jen, I couldn't. And I want you to know I threw back my head and laughed, because it makes sense now. I'm sorry, Headmistress France, I let you down. I'm glad you knew what I didn't want to see; and thank you for never expelling me. And I want to make you proud, I do. Thank you for caring about me. I'm so sorry, really, I'm so sorry, I never understood. I get it now.

And six hundred years from now when I plan to end my life, I hope you'll remember me. I worry to think my daughter may never know about her mother, would she think it was funny to know her mother's name was scrawled on all the boys' bathrooms on the Upper East Side? Would she play on the team her mother started? Will she know about her mom's hair, her easy laughter, the paint on her skirt and her green nail polish? I hope she does. and one day, if it's still around, I'll give her all my endless accounts of the years. I want you to have what I never could. I want you to be born and to feel whole, never question yourself or anything about you. I want you to know your worth. I want you to know your worth to me, that I thought enough about you even before you born, because I never want to inflict the pain I knew. I don't want you to see that. I want you to know you came in to a world that needed and wanted you, even if you weren't a boy, even if you weren't dark haired with skin "that tans even in May," even if you weren't thin, even if you don't act like me. I want you to come into a life that is yours, and never feel the need to have to take it for yourself. I want you to know that I'm giving myself to you, and will never want it to be the opposite way. I want you to know that you are indeed loved, so much that it happened before you got here, and maybe if you never do. I'll take a boy just the same, but a boy could never understand me like you will. Boys are to cherish, girls to teach. I want most of all for you to be happy.

I want you to always realize, that if you ever do get into a bar at 1AM and drink Citron with your best friends you didn't know you had, that I want to be sure you can conjure my face, and I hope you laugh because of it.

I love you so much, and hope to meet one day.

For My Favorite

I was going to write and pretend as if I didn't know you were going to read this, but what's the sense in this? I'm glad in a way you wanted to read it, and hope you don't get upset by anything I've written; wasn't my intention. But I do hope, on the opposite end this all doesn't go to your head, in the entries where I've complimented you! ;)

I gave this address to you because I think that what you're saying to me is true; I keep in too much. I try to be honest, but it never comes out right sounding and I always feel I've left so much out by the end of the phone call. I process information so quickly that sometimes it doesn't all register into words, and I just fail miserably and say one thing when mean another. I try. Honestly, I'm very shy. And we've never discussed it but I've never been involved with someone who wants to know all about me, right down to my bodily habits. I know I come across as cold and unfeeling, but please, understand that it is hard for me to admitt what I'm feeling, I've spent alot of time trying to ignore it as I'm not always sure what effect it has on those around me and know that, if the feeling were fleeting, I'd regret admitting to it once it were out. Sometimes I get mad for no reason, or get sad simply because I want to be, and it's hard for me to define what I'm thinking and why. I don't mean to confuse or to annoy, it's just I like to think everything out entirely before I speak; for fear if it wasn't thought over and scrutenized, I'd never get out exactly what I want to say.

But now all the secrets are out; you can see them here. I hope you understand.

This is me. All I have.

Stranger Days...

Am creeper.

Low. Very low. I am filled lately with endless regret over things I can't control.

Happy Birthday, K.J.B.K.

Miss you lots, Rhett. Always the first. No one can take that from us. 26 today.

Thank you for everything, I've never been so happy as I am now. I love you and miss you just as much as I did the day you died.

Always the first.

As I said before I'm 22 now. You'd probably smile to see me, I can drive! I still work in fashion and everything is going well. I'm lobbying for a promotion.

I want very much to thank you for all you did for me. Really, I've never been so content. I used to tell you I owe to you so much of me, and I still do. Thank you for letting me go; thank you for understanding. Thank you for taking the initiative I couldn't.

Wherever you are, I hope you are well and taken care of. Keep sparkling in my skies. Always the first; I'll never forget.

Happy birthday Rhett, drink one for me.