A Word I Can't Even Pronounce

It's hard to know when to stay quiet. I feel my thoughts run off inside my mind, taunting me to catch them and put them back into my vault of deepest fears--a place reserved for access by nightmares and times of severe hormonal imbalance.

I don't know how to pronounce the word, and when I google it I find less information than what the doctor shared. I don't know where to begin or where to end. 

It explains the bleeding, when I walk into a wall or pinch my hand in the seatbelt, while having sex, the endless blood blisters when playing lacrosse, why my bottom was purple after every time I road a horse or drove for more than a few hours in the car. It is an endless list. I understand the nosebleeds from sneezing and being tired all the time, bleeding through my dress at that dinner party. But, what about the potentials?

Perhaps it will be when that bike crashes into me while walking down the street that my spleen will burst or maybe it will be that extra hard bump the bus hits? What if I get in a accident? Do I need to wear a bracelet? Will the paramedics know that I need plasma and a blood bank? 

And as for the future, now I know that I don't have to worry about getting pregnant because my body will "spontaneously abort." I guess it serves me right for all the times that I crossed my fingers and promised to take precautions next time. And I can put away the clothes I've collected and saved for someone else. I can unfavorite all the baby sweaters on revelry because it's not happening without a lot of money and transfusions before, during, after.

I don't want to whine or complain or shout out fears. I want to say hello to you, and not think about this; I'll let it out here.

Covering Up

Betty B.

Lauren Bacall, hair and make-up tests.

No idle hands

There are just two weeks left before the big work odyssey. Almost two months away from home. I'll miss all the Mark Twain weather ("The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.") I'll miss you, Z.

I am struggling with having a job while starting to build a career. And learning how to take care of myself after spending 11 hours a day taking care of others. 

And I am struggling with this blog. What should it be...

Photo c/o the British Campaign for Wool. 

Note

I'm still in love with you. 

Summer 2012

Every year, every day and every second I find myself changing. And when I reflect I am amazed at where I am. The changes are most striking when one reconnects with older friends, those who were once your shadow, and who you now live so far away from. I feel like a deer in headlights. I stare at them, and think "Who are you?! What have you done with my friend?" Ignoring that we have grown apart.

Then there are the friends that seem to grow with you, although apart. The friends with whom you see again for the first time in years or speak on the phone for the first time in months and it's as if the time and distance were nonexistent. Those are the friends that I treasure the most and I am lucky enough to have several.

I miss you, I love you much.

Most beautiful darlings.

Bring Me West

Another gap.

In the middle of May, I leave my apartment next to the city of ashes, where I have lived for the past two years, and settle in a city of technological significance.

I am going to try and document this process, going to try and find myself again.

Z, darling, I love you more every day.

~ LC