an ode to the dying

I lay on the floor
because it is all
I can do. It is all
I can do to be alive.

My grandmother lays
in the bed, it is not
her bed. It is just
a bed. A temporary place
somewhere between living
and dying. It is the ICU.

I would like to believe
that she is too young
to die. But she has done
so much living, and she
has seen so much dying.

Husband, son, sister,
brother. But it is not
her time yet. It does not
have to be her time yet.

So I lay, on the floor,
and I feel my heart beat,
I feel my flesh on my bones
and I am alive, so I shall do
everything I can to live
in the days that are mine.




Maybe this is nothing. Maybe it's just some silly words, strung together with too many line breaks. But I am going to New York on Saturday morning to see my grandmother, to see with my own two eyes how much she has aged, so I can feel my own emotions, not just the ones that my relatives pass on to me through the phone. I am going to be there for my all my relatives, regardless of how they have chosen to cope with this. I am going even though I know it will wreck me. I am going to go and be strong for them, and bring hope that only an outsider can bring. Because they need me. Because I'm outsider, but not a stranger. I am going because they are my flesh and my blood. I am going because I am scared. I am going because I also need them.
I can hardly believe that I am actually putting these thoughts into words because I know that later I will be embarrased that I did. I will want to take them back, polish them up and squirrel them away in a journal somewhere for someone to find when I die. But for some reason I think that I am being called to live and this is just part of it. Because on friday nights, I go out, and I see the girls dancing, and I see that they are living out loud, not just hiding against the wall, and I am jealous of them, of their dancing, of their freedom. And I yearn to be that free.
I'll try not to worry about the fact that when you read this you may feel that you don't know what to say. Because that's the response that I have gotten for most of my life. When my parents remarried and abandoned me, no one knew what to say. And eventually I grew tired of saying anything at all. I am tired of letting the silence of other's force me into silence. And one day I will figure out how to turn all that into something poetic. And maybe I should have broken this down into smaller, easier to swallow pieces, but instead I put it all out there and so here it is.

Q&A

The universe is funny that way. You ask it a question, it provides you with an answer.

In my last post, I cried out for answers. And it seems as though I've gotten some.

I am outdoorsy. That much I am sure of. I may not love all the outdoor clothing that I have, but I certainly have it. 10 degrees, I'm ready. 100 degrees, I'm ready for that too. Water, rock, trail? No problem.

But a girl wants to feel pretty too and sometimes hiking boots just don't have that effect. I didn't start wearing heels until this last year. I still slip and fall every now and then but what the heck it's nice to feel "dressed up" every now and again. Yet, the rest of the wardrobe is still lacking. It's hard to invest in clothes that are just going to sit in the closet 6 1/2 days a week.

With downtown growing, I'm surrounded by people that are living out loud and I am not. I think I might actually be conservative. gasp! Playing it safe? Afraid of drawing too much attention to myself? Hiding my body behind boring clothes? Not taking the time to accessorize? Spending my money on the wrong things? Not looking in the right places?

I feel like I need help! What do I wear to an interview? How can be fashion forward without breaking the bank? How do I express myself, my motivations, my desires, my passion in the way that I dress myself?

These questions seems so strange to ask... as a former southern baptist... lord knows I spent hours, days, and months praying that this desire for appearanes would fade. External appearance doesn't matter... it's what's inside that counts! Store up treasures in heaven because you can't take any worldly goods with you!

Yikes! I've done it now! I confess, I love clothes! I want to be fashionable! I think that the way you dress matters! I spend precious hours of my day thinking about shallow things like how to wear a scarf!

And so, the universe has answered. I can be all of this and more. I just need to do it. Get dressed with intention, not guilt. Experiment. Search. Ask. Try. Do.

dear world.

dear world,
I fear that I find myself having an identity crisis today. 10 months out of college, and I expected to know myself better than I do now. In fact, I feel that I know myself less than I did when I was in school. My hopes, my dreams, my expectations...
I feel lost somewhere between doing what I feel like I should, and living the artistic, adventurous life that I see others pursuing and I am torn. Professional by day and indie by night? Is beatnik a decision or a result of decisions?




Who am I and how do I find out how to be who I think I am?
perhaps my dreams will reveal the mysteries to me.

goodnight world.

sincerely,
jennifer marie

where art thou?

too far from loved ones.
too distant from myself.

today.

today, today I am:
taking a deep breath, even though I don't want to.
writing, even though I feel like I have nothing to say.
pushing myself to exercise, even though my mind feels so weak.
trusting, because there is nothing I can do otherwise.

work felt off today, something about the full moon.

next week, my hours are just as scimpy as they were this week, which means that the *bonus* we're getting is really just filling in the gaps. (which is disappointing as I have been daydreaming about a few wishlist items... and now I'm just feeling guilty because I should just be grateful to have a job.)

and then there's the fact that my grandma is in the hospital and no one really knows anything about it yet. a fractured tailbone and a mass, a mysterious unidentified mass.
and so, I am here. and she is there. I know I want to go, but I also know, from experience, that stepping into the middle of my family during an event such as this just sends my soul into such a whirlwind of emotion that it takes me weeks to recover from.

my grandma and I are very close and it just seems wrong to let her go through this without being there. to think of her there... lying... in pain, trapped in a bed, confined to the skin she is in- the least I can do is get on a plane and go sit next to her and hold her hand. I can sit with my family while they cry. while they worry. while they drink. and then they cry. and it would be worth it.

and of course beaming in for 48 hours is going to tear me apart. but I suppose feeling wrecked is better than having no feelings at all.