Saturday, February 26, 2011


Living in North Carolina is a lot like being in a twelve step program. I know I need to be here. I know that the rewards will be sweet if I can make it through to the end of the program. But damn, sometimes I just need a PNW kick. Anything, anything, please! Send me the rain, an earthquake, an Evergreener- ANYTHING! Anything but Pearl Jam, that is. Most of the time I can work through these "withdrawal symptoms." Or maybe I'll find something to ease me over. I'll cheat a little and buy a free trade organic bar of chocolate or coffee. It's my methadone. This past week, I crashed. I crashed good and hard. North Carolina is not home- not in the least- and I knew it with every fiber of my being and I wasn't sure if I could hold out to the end. So, I sent out the call and my friends, because they are awesome and resourceful and caring, responded in kind. I was tempted with a good home for E and me, my job back, a lead on possibly day care and a car. I had the money and means, I knew the way.....

And then I made that phone call that had to be made. It was like an acid flashback in it's vividness that recalled the worst of everything- without a single sharp word spoken. I hung up the phone knowing full well why we had moved away in the first place. I hugged my baby boy and promised to do what was right regardless of how hard it would be and I loved him even more in that instance.

North Carolina is not permanent any more than it is home. One day, hopefully sooner than later, I'll put the last box in my car, take a long look at the house, and move on. I have my college courses picked out. I have leads on a transferable job. I have a support group of family that I can't wait to see. There are just a few more steps to get through before we get there.

Will I ever return to Washington? Maybe. Definitely to visit and maybe to live but a lot needs to change first. I don't think I'll ever live in Olympia again but I'm certainly not opposed to Seattle or Port Angeles.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

I'll come

It’s the sound of his voice, the way he says “Hey Baby” in between puffs of smoke he’s stopped trying to hide that send my heart stumbling over its beats. I see his name and it lights up my world. If I hear songs that remind me of him, I can’t help but to smile like a fool no matter where I am; I get so much male attention when I’m thinking of him. I remember those hands; strong, sturdy, and calloused things that knew exactly how to hold me; the memory of his fingers traversing the contours of my calves and grabbing my ankles. He is so gentle and one of the strongest men I know. It’s as if he was created with the knowledge ingrained in him- I want him lying next to me- and he cat and mouse’s with this wisdom to draw out my smiles. I want his body pressed against mine, his chest to my back, his arms cradling me, his lips hovering mere inches above my ear, driving sweet and dirty thoughts straight into my heart. I blossom like roses in June in his presence.
                I’m not ready for him; not ready for any relationship no matter how fleeting or casual and yet… and yet… and yet. And yet I’ll come to him. He’ll call and I’ll come. The world will slip away, vignette our chemistry, and we’ll belong to each other for these fleeting moments. Dawn will surely cast a harsh light upon all this nocturnal romance at some point. In the meantime, I’m torn between either prolonging what we have or delivering a swift coup de grace sure to save us both the torments of reality…. And yet… and yet… and yet…. I’ll come. He calls and I come.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011


                So, I’m sitting in the middle of Podunkville, NC listening to the classic rock love station on Pandora. They teased with the promise of the Beatles and I got Mr. Big. Ugh. So I “disliked” a couple songs before falling onto “Stairway to Heaven” and the only reason I’m here is because I’ve never intentionally listened to the song. And I’ve got to say… kind of bored. Then I switch to the 60s folk station, Paul Simon starts crooning “The Sound of Silence.” It’s one of my all time favorite songs, right up there with “Let It Be.”
                Now that I’ve got the time and the music is good, I can let my mind drift…. And drift it does. It drifts home once again. It drifts to Washington. I can see the details of all my friends so well that I feel like some specter hovering just outside of their lives, experiencing the little bits they share through texts and status updates. I miss each and every one of them, the catty ones, the motherly ones, the impulsive and the Zen ones. I remember days spent with my son strolling along the boardwalk and nights spend working at the job I loved or laughing with friends. And I get sad; the dark clouds roll in as I think that all that is going on without me. My friends carry out the plans and trips we’d thought up together but never had time to do and I feel utterly alone when I see the pictures….
                And then I remember the fights. I remember screaming into my phone until my throat was hoarse. I remember the hurtful comments, the arguments, the feeling of being used and using that feeling to justify manipulations. I remember all the times that would have been so much more fun if he hadn’t been there.
                This, of course, leads me to thinking E and I could move back to Washington. We could move north- maybe to Tacoma or Seattle. We would be close to my friends again, close to the mountains and the ocean. We could start over brand new in an old home…..
                Invariable, I think of my son. I think of what his life would be like in Seattle. I wonder how he would cope knowing that, although his father would be less than an hour away, he never visits. Or worse, he would make plans to visit but back out at the last minute and break promises if a better deal came along. I look into my son’s blue, blue eyes and stroke his cheek. He’s so much happier here than he would be there….
                Yet, the other day he pointed at a man that looked like his father and said “Dada.” He grins and waves at pictures of his grandparents and cousin. I wish I knew what he was thinking, how often he thought of them, if he thinks that my time with him is better than the time his father spent with him. Is it wrong of me, then, to have put away the pictures (in part for safe keeping but also because it hurts)?
                It’s been five months and I’m still living with one foot in Washington and one in North Carolina with my eyes to a future that isn’t in either place.  I pray that when we get to where we are going, we can dive in wholly. Please, welcome us with open hearts and open arms. We’ve spent far too long in intermission….

When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me, 
speaking words of wisdom, let it be. 
And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me, 
speaking words of wisdom, let it be. 

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be. 
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be. 

And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree, 
there will be an answer, let it be. 
For though they may be parted there is still a chance that they will see, 
there will be an answer. let it be. 

Let it be, let it be, ..... 

And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light, that shines on me, 
shine until tomorrow, let it be. 
I wake up to the sound of music, mother Mary comes to me, 
speaking words of wisdom, let it be. 

Let it be, let it be, .....