Dear Becca:
It has been eleven weeks since the disillusionment of our friendship. May 18th, I woke up to find some messages from you in my inbox accusing me of some very hurtful and completely untrue things. When I replied, hoping to help you understand the truth of the situation, you wanted to hear none of it. We had some scary phone calls that day, and then it was over.
Since then I’ve sent you one message (seven weeks ago), trying to get some sort of explanation about why you allowed our friendship to be what you consider a casualty of your battle with cancer (although since I never signed any treaty aligning myself with the Nation of Cancer, I’m not sure how that works). Since then we’ve had one single phone conversation on or around July 3rd, when you called asking me whether I’d spoken to a girl who had just walked out of Central Park while you were working there. That’s it, the extent of our communication, and you should know that.
Which is why I’m very perplexed about why I had to explain to someone lately that I have neither forwarded you any messages that he and I had exchanged nor called harassing or threatening you or calling you names like “cunt.” I know that you and I have shared many friends, and when a ‘breakup’ like ours occurs it can be problematic for mutual friends. People have asked me what went on between us, and all I can think about is how we spent two years as such close friends. No matter why we split, I cannot ignore those two years, cannot say they meant nothing. And so I try to honor them, and you, by telling people merely this: “She said some things that I can’t bring myself to forgive.” I leave it at that.
If I didn’t forward you those messages, how did you get them? Did you conjure up his password or was it mine? What else have you read while on our accounts, what have you deleted or changed that we’ll never know about? Either way, you surely know from checking one of our accounts that I sent him a message asking him what, besides his friendships with me and the person he used to call his best friend, has changed since he came to know you. And as I asked him that, I couldn’t help but ask myself.
I came up with five names right off the top of my head: Mandy, Tommy Thrash, Tracy, Tyler, and Tommy Hampton. These are all people that I used to talk with, laugh with in bars, consider friends before you told me things about them, things you said they’d done to you. You told me these people said unkind things to you, about you, and because of the way you told the story, and because I thought you were someone I could call my best friend, I believed you without hesitation. I judged these people based upon your evidence. Who else should go on that list that I can’t recall, or that I’m not even conscious of?
And now I am hearing “evidence” about myself that you’re giving to other people: that I call you on the phone and am unkind, or that I forward messages, and I can only think of two things. One is, WHO ELSE is she telling this to, WHAT OTHER complete fabrications is she conjuring up and spreading about me? Because I’ve caught some sideways glances from some mutual friends of ours since the split, which I had chalked up to general awkwardness, but now I’m starting to wonder what lies they’ve been fed. The second thing is, WHAT of the things you told me while we were friends ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE was also entirely made up? And that’s when the real shame and guilt sets in, and I realize that I was an unwitting accessory in your framings. That’s why I’m giving copies of this letter to the people I feel I judged wrongly. I deserve a little public humiliation for what I’ve done. They deserve apologies and I’m going to make sure they get them, from this letter as well as from me personally the next time I see them in a bar and buy them a beer. If they can bring themselves to forgive me, that will be radical. If not, I’ll just have to live with what I’ve done, but at least I’ll know I tried to make it right.
I guess the only other thing I keep wondering is how you allowed this to happen. Why, first of all, you said those unkind things to me and never cared to apologize for them or take them back. Sure, you apologized for the fact that I was hurt by what you said, but let’s not kid ourselves – that’s not a real apology. I know from what you have told me that you hate any comparison to your “crazy mother” or when people try to look at your battle with cancer, issues with your fathers, or other problems in your life as a basis for your behaviors. I’ve been there for you when you cried about this in the past. It seems that someone who is conscious of those challenges wouldn’t allow herself to be affected by them… but then you also told me other things that I’m now wondering about the truth of, and I know you’re telling at least one person things about me that are utter lies. I wonder what it must be inside your head that makes you think it is acceptable to conjure up these bizarre untruths and spread them around. I wonder if you realize they are untrue as you spread them or if you yourself actually come to believe them and live them.
I’m writing you to ask you to stop. I know the very idea is silly, that maybe you can’t and maybe you simply won’t, but I have to ask. I have to ask because I’ve tried to honor what I thought was a great two-year friendship by not saying a single negative thing about you, Becca, not to anyone. All I’ve ever said is that we had a disagreement, or that you said some things I have trouble forgiving. I leave it at that. I remember asking you to do the same, and I remember you telling me you would, but now I hear otherwise.
You know I write a poem every day in the month of April, and you know that in 2008 I wrote a poem about/for you. Well I did it again in 2009, when we were still friends. I enclose it now to remind you of what was lost. I always knew I was only as close to you as you allowed me to be, that I only knew of your life what you wanted me to know; I always felt you holding me at arm’s length. But I was all right with that. I wanted only to be your true friend, your solid supporter until the end. When you pushed me away, I tried to respect and honor that. Of course it’s too late to save what we had, Becca, and that’s not why I give you this poem, or why I give copies of this letter to the people who deserve to read it. I do it to hopefully help things in the future. I can’t know whether any of this will actually make sense inside your brain, after the many things people have told me since we’ve ‘split up,’ but I have to try. I have to do it for the future friends you might have, the future hearts you might break, the future friendships you might dissolve.
The next time you start to fabricate a hurtful lie about someone, do try and see if you can stop for just a moment, take a breather, and ask what that lie might cost. This letter can’t save our friendship, but I can use it to thank you for the important lesson you taught me at least, and I can try to apologize to the people I hurt because of you. If I can also cause you to at least consider change, well then that’s three wins, and if not, let’s just remember the important lesson we learned from Meat Loaf: “Two outta three ain’t bad.”
God forgive us both,
Ginna Funk Wallace
cc: Mandy, Tracy, Tyler, Tommy Thrash, Tommy Hampton
April 24, 2009
Poem to Make Becca Jane Smile 2
Here’s the thing of it: I don’t know how to write a poem about you
without saying Every time I tell you that I love you it’s a lie.
Man nor God never invented any word to tell you what I feel
and love feels so cheap it’s a curse in four letters. I want to say: Sister,
remember that time we got in the car and we drove all day to Kentucky
and whether we went so you could see a boy or so I could forget one
doesn’t matter anymore all that matters is stopping in Loretta Lynn’s
Country Kitchen on the way back for an impromptu photo shoot. That’s closer
to the kind of love I want to convey, I want to say At least once a day
I think about the time we turned that corner and saw the four women
praying to end abortion and I said Girl just look down and we turned into the lot
and walked inside, hand in hand. I’m getting warmer. I try: I’m glad
your brilliant academic career fell flat on its face so I can at least still see you
even if it’s only once or twice a month and we can sit in the sunshine and talk
about our lives like that’s actually what we’re talking about instead of
why on earth they say the Greek had four words for love and the Eskimos
have twenty or so and I don’t have a single one that can tell you what I mean.
Now I’m getting really warm. If I say the word Friend it’s a sorry excuse.
If I say Soul Mate it’s trite, overused, and Best Friend always fit better
on a key chain anyway. I’d tattoo you on my heart but no one would be able
to see it, it’s important to me that everyone see it so I say: No one has ever
made me feel so completely KNOWN, I say: Comrades, Cohorts, Compadres,
say: the best day of my life was that day when I called you crying on campus
because I was afraid you were good as dead already and you answered
and you cried right back and you’ll always be the strongest woman
I’ve ever known. Say I want to be you when I grow up, say you knew
all of this before I even wrote it, didn’t you? Say I love you
isn’t strong enough but I love you anyway.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Monday, July 20, 2009
O SNAP I MADE A BOOKS
Most of you know I've been working on putting together a new collection of poems for a little while now. It's finally printed. You know just as soon as I got done having people read it, peer edit, grammar/spell check and whatnot, I print fifty copies, go to a poetry reading, read one of the poems aloud and... find out I typed "hope" when I meant "home." It's fun for me. So now each of the little books has my own handwriting with a sharpie covering that P up with an M. Gives it character, personalization.
Some of you also know I lost a really wonderful friend lately. I was able to print these books way way on the cheap due to some benefits that come with being a university student again. I bought the paper, then went to school and copied my little heart out. Still have to figure out where/how to staple or bind however. But they're ready to be read at any rate.
So if you want a copy, shoot me a message with a way to contact you. Since I was able to print for so cheap, and since it's technically two little books that are companions together, you can get both for $5, or whatever you want to donate. The wonderful friend of mine who passed was only twenty years old, and her mother is now SURPRISE saddled with something like six grand in costs to bury her only child. No one can be prepared for that. I'm giving all the funds my book raises to this poor woman.
Read some fun poetry, help a beautiful kind woman through a tough time.
Some of you also know I lost a really wonderful friend lately. I was able to print these books way way on the cheap due to some benefits that come with being a university student again. I bought the paper, then went to school and copied my little heart out. Still have to figure out where/how to staple or bind however. But they're ready to be read at any rate.
So if you want a copy, shoot me a message with a way to contact you. Since I was able to print for so cheap, and since it's technically two little books that are companions together, you can get both for $5, or whatever you want to donate. The wonderful friend of mine who passed was only twenty years old, and her mother is now SURPRISE saddled with something like six grand in costs to bury her only child. No one can be prepared for that. I'm giving all the funds my book raises to this poor woman.
Read some fun poetry, help a beautiful kind woman through a tough time.
Monday, June 8, 2009
WAKA WAKA WAKA
I realized while I was there that I'd been to lots of several-day-camping festivals before
and lots of outdoor, lots-of-bands music festivals before
but never a several-days-lots-of-bands-outdoor-camping-music festival before.
IT WAS RAD.
Almost too big, but just manageable.
The two best things for me were that one, every single day I saw a completely different band that I had never ever heard of before and they blew my fucking mind so hard that I ended up spending food money on buying a CD, and two, every single day I got to see DIIIIRTFOOOOOT.
Other highlights were trying to estimate the per-capita number of people with dreadlocks there, and realizing that the per-capita number of curly-haired people was much higher than in the real world. Driving out to Ozark for the first time in something like a decade was fun, too, since I used to go camping out there all the time back in high school. On the way back to my regular life I stopped and tooted around the town a little bit, having flashbacks every three blocks.
There are some seriously weird people in the world. I didn't get photographs of nearly as many of them as I'd have liked. Also sometimes people do a lot of drugs. All I was interested in was my whiskey, my rum, and my herb, but the morning after the first night there I heard a gentleman walk through and catalog the drugs he'd done the night before. He listed having smoked marijuana, opium, and cocaine (I thought when you smoked it it was called crack???) and having eaten rolls, mdma, and acid. I can't remember whether he said anything about mushrooms. And that's not all that was there, of course people had pills of all sorts, and one night as I was meandering back to my campsite, a gentleman said simply, "Nitrous?" No thank you, crazy bastard.
I camped with my friend Lacy Lou and her boyfriend and a team of friends of his that were all cool people and fun to be with, so that was a pleasure. I also got to spend a lot of time in the Dirtfoot camp, once I realized exactly where it was located, so that was even more fun.
THE GODDAMNED MOON BALLOON. was a large orange globe strung to some vendor's tent. It was fun watching all the people who were screwed up on one drug or another pointing at it and going LOOK AT THAT BEAUTIFUL HARVEST MOON. No, my friend, the moon is the giant white thing over there. That orange thing you're looking at, with seams and a long string tailing from it? That's a balloon.
THE LITTLE HULA GIRL THAT COULDN'T. There were lots of hula-hoopers there, and some of them were pretty good. One of them was mind-bogglingly awesome and spun with three hoops going different directions at different times. Most of them were TERRIBLE. Drunk or stoned or just awful naturally, but trying so hard and failing consistently. I heard a story about one girl who kept trying to throw her hoop up and catch it somehow. She hit three different people before someone finally talked her into stopping.
POST YOUR MEMORIES HERE.
and lots of outdoor, lots-of-bands music festivals before
but never a several-days-lots-of-bands-outdoor-camping-music festival before.
IT WAS RAD.
Almost too big, but just manageable.
The two best things for me were that one, every single day I saw a completely different band that I had never ever heard of before and they blew my fucking mind so hard that I ended up spending food money on buying a CD, and two, every single day I got to see DIIIIRTFOOOOOT.
Other highlights were trying to estimate the per-capita number of people with dreadlocks there, and realizing that the per-capita number of curly-haired people was much higher than in the real world. Driving out to Ozark for the first time in something like a decade was fun, too, since I used to go camping out there all the time back in high school. On the way back to my regular life I stopped and tooted around the town a little bit, having flashbacks every three blocks.
There are some seriously weird people in the world. I didn't get photographs of nearly as many of them as I'd have liked. Also sometimes people do a lot of drugs. All I was interested in was my whiskey, my rum, and my herb, but the morning after the first night there I heard a gentleman walk through and catalog the drugs he'd done the night before. He listed having smoked marijuana, opium, and cocaine (I thought when you smoked it it was called crack???) and having eaten rolls, mdma, and acid. I can't remember whether he said anything about mushrooms. And that's not all that was there, of course people had pills of all sorts, and one night as I was meandering back to my campsite, a gentleman said simply, "Nitrous?" No thank you, crazy bastard.
I camped with my friend Lacy Lou and her boyfriend and a team of friends of his that were all cool people and fun to be with, so that was a pleasure. I also got to spend a lot of time in the Dirtfoot camp, once I realized exactly where it was located, so that was even more fun.
THE GODDAMNED MOON BALLOON. was a large orange globe strung to some vendor's tent. It was fun watching all the people who were screwed up on one drug or another pointing at it and going LOOK AT THAT BEAUTIFUL HARVEST MOON. No, my friend, the moon is the giant white thing over there. That orange thing you're looking at, with seams and a long string tailing from it? That's a balloon.
THE LITTLE HULA GIRL THAT COULDN'T. There were lots of hula-hoopers there, and some of them were pretty good. One of them was mind-bogglingly awesome and spun with three hoops going different directions at different times. Most of them were TERRIBLE. Drunk or stoned or just awful naturally, but trying so hard and failing consistently. I heard a story about one girl who kept trying to throw her hoop up and catch it somehow. She hit three different people before someone finally talked her into stopping.
POST YOUR MEMORIES HERE.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
This Weekend
Friday I came home from taking my last final and a friend met me at the house with something for us to put a lighter to. After we had, I started looking around my house and getting a little disgusted with myself. When I'm busy, or when I'm stressed, or when I'm depressed my house gets messy. I've been all three lately and let me tell you this place was looking condemnable. I ran him off and started cleaning.
Completely rearranged my front room while vacuuming all around and under everything. Tore the room apart, picked up papers, books, clothes, everything. It looks nice now. I also got maybe two thirds of the way through my kitchen, so that was also awesome. Some friends came by bringing me food (moving out of dorms, didn't want to take it home) and another couple of friends, and then the first friend came back with that flammable stuff again and THEN
my gay boyfriend got there. He's in AA and part of the way he deals is to get me super drunk and laugh at me. He did, and I was, and he laughed and it was great. We went out briefly and had some great antics and talked about life and our feelings because that's what we do and it was wonderful.
I woke up Saturday and got ready to head to Hot Springs for a visit. My BFF is going through radiation for a breast tumor so I've been trying to go back more frequently lately because it kindof sucks for her and she's having a crappy time of it. We hung out until she had to go to work, and then I did a TON of laundry that I brought with me at her boyfriend's house. Let me just take a moment to mention what an angel her boyfriend is and how amazing they are together - I'm super happy about them.
I met her at work and we went to the bar. I didn't think I would get shitty since I already had the night before, but people were happy I'd come to visit and these shots of my favorite whiskey kept getting passed my way. I think grand total I had six or eight or so? Smoked an Oliva Serie V cigar and it was the second best cigar I've had yet. So delicious. Flirted with a cutie and danced to an amazing band. I took some poetry books back because I needed gas money and thought I might sell a few to drunk people - it worked. My BFF and I took a ton of pictures (other people did with the camera too) and there's a lot on there that I don't exactly remember. We got super sauced, we were in rare form, and it was perfect. Lots of great friends were there, lots of hugging and laughs and fabulosity.
I woke up the next morning still drunk and I'd promised to go to work with her. It's my old job before I moved away and the chef was going to be short a hand in the kitchen so I offered to come back and wash dishes for shits and giggles. I made myself throw up the last of the whiskey and went with my BFF to pick up donuts, a gallon of milk, and chocolate syrup to make chocolate milk with. We took it in to work early and had nibbles and sips and then I worked a shift as the happiest dishwasher in town before getting fed some delicious Atlantic salmon and a dark green salad made of local leaves and house dressing.
Nothing in this entry is really important, except that I had an amazing super fun weekend and I love the people I got to see. I'm also really glad that I got to spend some quality time with my BFF. I still have three or four papers to write before I'm done with the semester, though, so it's bright and ugly tomorrow morning for me!
Completely rearranged my front room while vacuuming all around and under everything. Tore the room apart, picked up papers, books, clothes, everything. It looks nice now. I also got maybe two thirds of the way through my kitchen, so that was also awesome. Some friends came by bringing me food (moving out of dorms, didn't want to take it home) and another couple of friends, and then the first friend came back with that flammable stuff again and THEN
my gay boyfriend got there. He's in AA and part of the way he deals is to get me super drunk and laugh at me. He did, and I was, and he laughed and it was great. We went out briefly and had some great antics and talked about life and our feelings because that's what we do and it was wonderful.
I woke up Saturday and got ready to head to Hot Springs for a visit. My BFF is going through radiation for a breast tumor so I've been trying to go back more frequently lately because it kindof sucks for her and she's having a crappy time of it. We hung out until she had to go to work, and then I did a TON of laundry that I brought with me at her boyfriend's house. Let me just take a moment to mention what an angel her boyfriend is and how amazing they are together - I'm super happy about them.
I met her at work and we went to the bar. I didn't think I would get shitty since I already had the night before, but people were happy I'd come to visit and these shots of my favorite whiskey kept getting passed my way. I think grand total I had six or eight or so? Smoked an Oliva Serie V cigar and it was the second best cigar I've had yet. So delicious. Flirted with a cutie and danced to an amazing band. I took some poetry books back because I needed gas money and thought I might sell a few to drunk people - it worked. My BFF and I took a ton of pictures (other people did with the camera too) and there's a lot on there that I don't exactly remember. We got super sauced, we were in rare form, and it was perfect. Lots of great friends were there, lots of hugging and laughs and fabulosity.
I woke up the next morning still drunk and I'd promised to go to work with her. It's my old job before I moved away and the chef was going to be short a hand in the kitchen so I offered to come back and wash dishes for shits and giggles. I made myself throw up the last of the whiskey and went with my BFF to pick up donuts, a gallon of milk, and chocolate syrup to make chocolate milk with. We took it in to work early and had nibbles and sips and then I worked a shift as the happiest dishwasher in town before getting fed some delicious Atlantic salmon and a dark green salad made of local leaves and house dressing.
Nothing in this entry is really important, except that I had an amazing super fun weekend and I love the people I got to see. I'm also really glad that I got to spend some quality time with my BFF. I still have three or four papers to write before I'm done with the semester, though, so it's bright and ugly tomorrow morning for me!
Monday, May 4, 2009
Whoops.
I woke up Sunday wishing I could remember what my mother's voice sounded like. She used to record stories for the local library, and you could call a number to hear it over the phone. I knew they used her stories for years after she left the job, so I called it up. It was a new voice telling a bilingual story. Guess they finally got with the times.
So I hung up. Checked my email and found a message from her.
It was hit and it was miss. There was a line in particular that gave me deep pause, but I won't go into it here, mostly because when I replied I neglected to edit out my signature with the link to this blog in it, so it's possible she's finally found it and maybe even stalking me right now. Ooooooh, spooky. It's a bummer because this has been a place where I felt free to talk about it and write it out. I may migrate over to my livejournal to do this in the future.
But I do want to catalog the things that helped me get to the place where I am today, and that is a place where her memory can no longer hurt me. I just found myself here recently.
1) Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood. The movie works better than the book for my specific purposes. The book is a little too different from our particular problems, but the movie is general enough to apply. I watched it and wished somehow someone would knock me out and take me out of my life and explain everything about her and what made her the crazy woman she became. Never happened.
2) Big Fish. Another movie about a kid who hates his/her parent for the person s/he perceived the parent to be and how s/he goes about reconciling that issue.
3) Postsecret.com and a few secrets in particular that resonated with my situation. One said "I am sorry I can't be who you want me to be, Mom. It's a shame cause I kinda like myself the way I am." Another said "Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worst kind of suffering." It's nice to know that even though other people are having lives completely different from your own, our individual sufferings match up on overall themes from time to time. I made one card about us and sent it in, but I never saw it posted on the blog. Lame.
4) Rachel McKibbens's "Central Park, Mother's Day."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WlqQzKBfNFE
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o-k-d-dbWHI&feature=related
Neither of these are as powerful as the version I heard for the first time at the finals of the National Poetry Slam in Austin in 2007. It was the first time I really thought about our situation from her point of view and thought, gee, maybe she didn't *mean* to fuck up so badly.
5) A documentary my father gave me about forgiveness. I can't remember the title right now, sorry, but it got me thinking about the process and working toward it.
6) Writing lots of poems about her.
7) Writing lots of letters to her. I never sent the poems or the letters, of course. Because at the end of the day, they were really just for me.
8) This American Life episode 175:
http://www.thisamericanlife.org/Radio_Episode.aspx?episode=175
The story that starts at 32:49 wasn't about us at all at first. It wasn't until it got to 53:36 that the neon signs lit up, and they were all arrows, and they were all pointing right at me.
I'm doing this catalog just in case we do meet up, and it turns out to be a terrible idea and nothing but negativity comes from it. These things (and a few more, but these have been the real beacons) can help bring me back to this place where I realize that she quite probably did the best she honestly could, and I can't hate her any more if her best was really that awful. I don't know what happened to her to make her who she was, and it may happen that she's someone else entirely today. Here's hoping.
The saddest part is that I've found two amazing substitute moms and I've loved them so much and valued having them in my lives more than I can ever tell them. One lives on a mountaintop outside Hot Springs and always gives the best hugs and the hugest heapings of unconditional love and delicious tea and is so giving and so loving. The other is actually a transgendered woman (gets her pussy this week, god bless her!) who is the ass-kicking I-got-your-back kind of mom who doles out brilliant amazing advice and delicious dinners at the same time.
I worry that they may suffer in this. Either my bio-mom will turn out to have changed into someone I can have a relationship with and I'll neglect these amazing women (unlikely, but I'll surely have guilt anyway) or she'll turn out to be the same person she always was and these women will have to help me rebuild myself all over again.
Dear God: Thanks for the amazing mothers you've sent me. Do please keep an eye on me for a bit while I deal with this. Love, Ginna.
So I hung up. Checked my email and found a message from her.
It was hit and it was miss. There was a line in particular that gave me deep pause, but I won't go into it here, mostly because when I replied I neglected to edit out my signature with the link to this blog in it, so it's possible she's finally found it and maybe even stalking me right now. Ooooooh, spooky. It's a bummer because this has been a place where I felt free to talk about it and write it out. I may migrate over to my livejournal to do this in the future.
But I do want to catalog the things that helped me get to the place where I am today, and that is a place where her memory can no longer hurt me. I just found myself here recently.
1) Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood. The movie works better than the book for my specific purposes. The book is a little too different from our particular problems, but the movie is general enough to apply. I watched it and wished somehow someone would knock me out and take me out of my life and explain everything about her and what made her the crazy woman she became. Never happened.
2) Big Fish. Another movie about a kid who hates his/her parent for the person s/he perceived the parent to be and how s/he goes about reconciling that issue.
3) Postsecret.com and a few secrets in particular that resonated with my situation. One said "I am sorry I can't be who you want me to be, Mom. It's a shame cause I kinda like myself the way I am." Another said "Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worst kind of suffering." It's nice to know that even though other people are having lives completely different from your own, our individual sufferings match up on overall themes from time to time. I made one card about us and sent it in, but I never saw it posted on the blog. Lame.
4) Rachel McKibbens's "Central Park, Mother's Day."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WlqQzKBfNFE
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o-k-d-dbWHI&feature=related
Neither of these are as powerful as the version I heard for the first time at the finals of the National Poetry Slam in Austin in 2007. It was the first time I really thought about our situation from her point of view and thought, gee, maybe she didn't *mean* to fuck up so badly.
5) A documentary my father gave me about forgiveness. I can't remember the title right now, sorry, but it got me thinking about the process and working toward it.
6) Writing lots of poems about her.
7) Writing lots of letters to her. I never sent the poems or the letters, of course. Because at the end of the day, they were really just for me.
8) This American Life episode 175:
http://www.thisamericanlife.org/Radio_Episode.aspx?episode=175
The story that starts at 32:49 wasn't about us at all at first. It wasn't until it got to 53:36 that the neon signs lit up, and they were all arrows, and they were all pointing right at me.
I'm doing this catalog just in case we do meet up, and it turns out to be a terrible idea and nothing but negativity comes from it. These things (and a few more, but these have been the real beacons) can help bring me back to this place where I realize that she quite probably did the best she honestly could, and I can't hate her any more if her best was really that awful. I don't know what happened to her to make her who she was, and it may happen that she's someone else entirely today. Here's hoping.
The saddest part is that I've found two amazing substitute moms and I've loved them so much and valued having them in my lives more than I can ever tell them. One lives on a mountaintop outside Hot Springs and always gives the best hugs and the hugest heapings of unconditional love and delicious tea and is so giving and so loving. The other is actually a transgendered woman (gets her pussy this week, god bless her!) who is the ass-kicking I-got-your-back kind of mom who doles out brilliant amazing advice and delicious dinners at the same time.
I worry that they may suffer in this. Either my bio-mom will turn out to have changed into someone I can have a relationship with and I'll neglect these amazing women (unlikely, but I'll surely have guilt anyway) or she'll turn out to be the same person she always was and these women will have to help me rebuild myself all over again.
Dear God: Thanks for the amazing mothers you've sent me. Do please keep an eye on me for a bit while I deal with this. Love, Ginna.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Volume 4
I'll be putting together a new collection of words this summer. If you've got any poems you liked and would enjoy seeing in the book, speak up now. Even if you can't remember the title or date or whatever, "The poem that's about this or that and has the one line that sounds like such and such..." Now's the time if you want to have input.
Friday, May 1, 2009
NaPoWriMo 30/30 Challenge
I'm DONE suckas!
Hopefully I'll take some time off and then work on revisions and then maybe soon will be out with Volume 4 fo yo bookshelves...
Hopefully I'll take some time off and then work on revisions and then maybe soon will be out with Volume 4 fo yo bookshelves...
The other day I ran into God at the grocery.
"Listen, God," I said, "I've got a question.
You remember that dream I had
when I was like twelve and I flew up to heaven
and you were there with
all sorts of animals and I asked you
that question and you gave me that answer?"
and God nodded and said "mm hm" she likes
to come across as obtuse sometimes,
you know, just to keep you guessing.
"Well God," I said, "I just wonder what all
of that meant," and she stood there
for fifteen whole seconds just saying
"hmmmm" and then she asked "But I thought
at the time it all made so much sense"
(you know God likes to answer with questions
sometimes she's tricky like that)
and I said "Yeah, God, but that was then
and this, as it happens, is now." and she
laughed and laughed and laughed and then
asked me "Well how did you lose all that
wild understanding? When did you last use it?
Try and retrace your steps.
Can you remember the place you were when you last
held it, warm and buzzing in your palms?"
"Listen, God," I said, "I've got a question.
You remember that dream I had
when I was like twelve and I flew up to heaven
and you were there with
all sorts of animals and I asked you
that question and you gave me that answer?"
and God nodded and said "mm hm" she likes
to come across as obtuse sometimes,
you know, just to keep you guessing.
"Well God," I said, "I just wonder what all
of that meant," and she stood there
for fifteen whole seconds just saying
"hmmmm" and then she asked "But I thought
at the time it all made so much sense"
(you know God likes to answer with questions
sometimes she's tricky like that)
and I said "Yeah, God, but that was then
and this, as it happens, is now." and she
laughed and laughed and laughed and then
asked me "Well how did you lose all that
wild understanding? When did you last use it?
Try and retrace your steps.
Can you remember the place you were when you last
held it, warm and buzzing in your palms?"
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
29/30 lord just get me through this
You turned off the alarm and slept as late as you pleased.
When you woke up you didn't shower and had cake for breakfast.
Backed the car out of the driveway and into an oncoming vehicle;
the crash sounded like a symphony. You drove away. Arrived
at the construction site and hammered everything wrong;
picked up the circular saw, ran it along the board and across
all four of your fingers. You never wanted them anyway.
The day you finally did everything you thought about doing,
the day you entertained all of those impulses
you'd been suppressing, you came home and called her,
told her you loved her and then went outside to the rose bush
that had been exploding with three new buds a day, looked
at the way it was bowed over, heavy with blossoms, lifted
your work boots and crushed each one purposefully under your feet.
When you woke up you didn't shower and had cake for breakfast.
Backed the car out of the driveway and into an oncoming vehicle;
the crash sounded like a symphony. You drove away. Arrived
at the construction site and hammered everything wrong;
picked up the circular saw, ran it along the board and across
all four of your fingers. You never wanted them anyway.
The day you finally did everything you thought about doing,
the day you entertained all of those impulses
you'd been suppressing, you came home and called her,
told her you loved her and then went outside to the rose bush
that had been exploding with three new buds a day, looked
at the way it was bowed over, heavy with blossoms, lifted
your work boots and crushed each one purposefully under your feet.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
4-28, "I should be studying, I should be studying."
So you file her away, wrap her up and tuck her
in your sock drawer, back in the corner, bury her
underneath the pair with holes in the heels
you can't bring yourself to throw out.
You try not to think about her. She's too pretty,
too popular, too smart, too young, too blond.
She's not your type. She's much too good.
But there comes that time every humid evening
when you lie down, turn on the good music and
take some time for yourself. It's your right
as a single person. You try to think about
that one hot musician. It works for a while,
just long enough to get things going
before you lose the vision. You bring up
the face of that professor, try to imagine
his or her body and it gets you nowhere.
Your hand starts to get tired, you can feel
your wrist getting sore. Picture the comedian,
the actress, the friend of a friend, the one you met
in this bar at that show. You don't want her,
you tell yourself, as you hear a rustling
from the drawer next to the bed. Not a bit,
you whisper, as she climbs out, lands on the floor
and heads your direction. Not me, you yell
as she claws her way up the side of the bed.
You scream, Nooo, a loud wicked howl
as she leans in over your face and you come
and you come and you come and you come.
in your sock drawer, back in the corner, bury her
underneath the pair with holes in the heels
you can't bring yourself to throw out.
You try not to think about her. She's too pretty,
too popular, too smart, too young, too blond.
She's not your type. She's much too good.
But there comes that time every humid evening
when you lie down, turn on the good music and
take some time for yourself. It's your right
as a single person. You try to think about
that one hot musician. It works for a while,
just long enough to get things going
before you lose the vision. You bring up
the face of that professor, try to imagine
his or her body and it gets you nowhere.
Your hand starts to get tired, you can feel
your wrist getting sore. Picture the comedian,
the actress, the friend of a friend, the one you met
in this bar at that show. You don't want her,
you tell yourself, as you hear a rustling
from the drawer next to the bed. Not a bit,
you whisper, as she climbs out, lands on the floor
and heads your direction. Not me, you yell
as she claws her way up the side of the bed.
You scream, Nooo, a loud wicked howl
as she leans in over your face and you come
and you come and you come and you come.
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