Shooting in the Bank.

born wanderer.

feeling close

Having gotten some great chiropractic work done today, I'm not drinking so I can take ibproufin.

Interesting how much you realize you would have been drinking if you were keeping up with your parents. A bottle a piece so far. John smokes pot all day anyway and has already had a brownie as well.

So tonight Mama Lindsey, Dad and I sat in a circle and talked about a few things. One of which was the people we had been with who made us feel comfortable, safe, and appreciated for who we are. When we got to John, he wasn't sure, and said he would have to think about it for a while to know. I told him if he had to think that hard, it probably wasn't good. Not long after, while I was trying to explain something about myself, he just got up and walked off, like he often does. Lindsey got irritated and bummed, making silent "oh Jesus..." faces at me. I paused, and then loudly asked Dad,
"so....are you done out here? What I was talking about is something personal about me that I'd like for you to know."
He mumbled an excuse/reply, and said he'd be back in a few minutes, but Lindsey got up and left.

You know, there's this part of my Dad that is hard to grasp. I understand, probably better than anyone else, his mental ebbs and flows. I also understood that he was partially listening, but was overloaded, sad, and needing a distraction. He walked back into the dining room, making a disapproving exhale at discovering her absence, the exact same thing he had just done.
I've been trying to just fucking keep it light, smile lots, keep him company, and just be supportive.

"Dad, you wanna go see some pictures?"
"sure..."
we sit on the couch. he stands up and walks over to the sliding glass door, looking out over the dark deck.
"You know, it's just tough when you walk out of a room like that when you're a part of a group sharing."
"Well it's good to know where I stand." His back faces me, voice standoffish.
"What do you mean?"
"Lindsey. Doesn't feel safe or like herself with me. Sure didn't name me as someone she felt comfortable with."
"....neither did you Dad."
"I don't fucking trust her."
"You don't trust yourself. Or anyone for that matter. Well, you almost trust me to do the grocery shopping."
"hardly."

Something inside me wilted a little. The rest of me went silent.

habitual slavery?

I've noticed an important trend in my visitations to Colorado. There seems to be a tendency to drink. And smoke. Parental influence may be a factor, but ultimately doesn't it come down to choice? So how does it make any sense at all to choose a habit that creates a reality that perpetuates escaping and not being present?

Moreover, it's just destructive.

I don't understand this profound urge to get so fucked up. Daily. Yet it's claws have me hooked, my body twisting around the razor sharp edge that pricks my emotions and triggers mental defense. And some days are better than others. These are not. My evenings end blurred.

I asked my father tonight how he was doing, aware that he was low and drifting far.
"Amber, I've told you before a million times. It's day to day, hour to hour, and minute to minute." His voice was wrinkled with frustration and remote bitterness.

"Well then wouldn't it be obvious that, especially given your condition, I'd want to ask how you are? I know how often you change Dad. In my own way I've experienced it, not to the extent and with the history you have, but I have ebbs and flows. And I've seen you here before, of corse I want to know where you're at. I love you and care about you."

It's hard to say how much thought could have been dedicated to what I was saying to him, and the sincere love I was trying to share. If you could divide a person's eyes into graphs of emotion, half of the apples in his eye's pies were distant and misted by the disorientation of sadness and personal rejection. The other slices were randomly cut by belief systems, fear, and loneliness caramelized in habitual slavery to his internal monster, the dark that penetrates the foundation of any smile. Wine glazed eyes.

He rolled up a joint and went downstairs without responding. I returned my bruised heart to chopping vegetables and stirring the bubbling stew. His sadness has set in. I wonder how long it will hover, sucking the life out of him.

If only I could cast a spell and banish it away, though it is still fat with my blood, sluggish from the feverish peppered flavor of anger that's been curing my flesh for years.

Somewhere in my body my own beast is growling, bumping against the walls I carefully placed in patterns of binding. Unknowingly blinded, emotional maze winding.

Rewind me. Find me.

Release me.

Please.

And we're adjusting.

Mama Lindsey arrived last night, and Dad's attitude flipped, as was expected. I found him crying in the kitchen; it's been a harsh reality for him to come to terms with the fact he drove his wife away, and is once again back to square one. Hugging, I told him that I'm here for him and locked my words into eye contact.

Last night I was stuck in a nightmare, having been accused of murdering Savannah, framed by an old man.
Wrists were slit.

coping

I am drunk.

More than normal. And still stoned over. Worst munchies day of my life ever. Probably downed half a pound of chocolate and crackers...about five cups of coffee.

Still couldn't wake up. Had to cancel shadowing David's restaurant product shoot today just to fucking take enough of a nap to function for the product demo for Volcano this evening.

Then Mama Lindsey arrived and the drinking really started for me. Copious amounts of chocolate.

I want to swim. I want to feel my body move freely again. Been so stuck in the same apathetic place, not wanting my heart to beat any faster than I can process the world and all of it's craziness.

And I'm supposed to go to South Carolina after this? Jeeeesus.

As of late I've been seriously questioning how I've been spending my time and what I'm really working towards. It's one thing to think that you're spending an enormous amount of time working to accomplish something when you're deceiving yourself as opposed to actually seeing results and the direct correlation between energy put into a project when you're in alignment with realistic goals. In other words I feel like I'm aimlessly wasting my time by thinking I'm working on some important project, validated only in my mind....

It's times like these I wish I had a drug stronger than weed or alcohol. Maybe sleep will save me for once.

The Golden Mean

just so happens to be a Golden Rule.

trembling dust bunnies

I had to stop going through my huge ass box of old memories packed away.

Out of no where, my hands were just shaking, my entire body was shaking. Emotionally I was fine, mentally I was fine, but damn. Just wasn't expecting that. Ate some veggies and sat down for a moment. Gonna hit up the thrift store and relax a bit. Snow's coming down pretty hard outside.

my glass eye

If ever...

If ever there was a time,

that was specifically created with the intention of me realizing the impact of a choice I was nervous about,

it was tonight.

Being there for my father during the past month was the best thing I could have done, and I'm finally satisfied with my choice. Validating him in person and seeing him glowing is profound. Holding his hands as he cried and holding space as he tried to explain...

Hugging my step brother Brandon and my Dad at the same time, sharing the moment of reunion and rejoice.

"Amazing how your heart can break and explode at the same time." - John Crago, 3-08-2010

letting the ball roll

I think right now I'm having the hardest time allowing the work relationships to continue on down the path without me. I've done my best to jam a limb in every door, eyes pleading the party on the other side not to close the door on me slowly. Cracking bones through splintered skin.

One thing I've noticed is that travel de-roots my sense of continuing realty. To energetically detach yourself from the clockwork hum of one side path of life to another place in which you must skillfully re-insert yourself without jamming the second hand, dodging slippery rocks.

Which brings my attention to the first hand, which is still in the first door.

What ends up happening is you give the world the biggest hug you can while you stay stretched in pose.

If life is going to force you to pose, why not make an impact.

"

Dear Mr. Kon,

Thank you so much for taking the time to teach us how to massage.  I’ve been anticipating these lessons since 3 years ago, when my older sister learned it through Health Academy.  And to tell you the truth, being able to learn how to massage is one of the reasons why I joined the Health Academy.  

On Friday, I was inspired by your massage therapists to take up massage when I’m older.  Like them, it won’t be a full time thing, but just a fun hobby on the side.  I really like massage because it heals people, and I want to do something to help them to relax and brighten their day.  

My massager on Friday was Ms. Amber.  I thought it was cool that she was also a photographer!  She was awesome.  After the massage, I felt so relaxed and didn’t want it to end.  She showed me where our lungs start, and that I should breathe through that section during the massage.  She also told me that my left side was really tense and that I should ease up on that side.  The massage was amazing.

I also thought that Ms. Karen was super nice.  Eunice, Diovi, and I were her massagers.  She was very friendly and encouraging.  She gave us some helpful tips on how to improve, and taught us the circling arm technique.

Thanks again, Mr. Kon.  I will never forget what you taught us.  Please send my thanks to your massage therapists for their awesome work!

Sincerely,

Nathaline Pilande

Health Academy Junior

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