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Words unwritten.

Something I submitted for a writing contest. Just wanted to put something on the blog. Its been forever, Im so terrible. I vow to blog more. Again. Sheesh.

………………………….

The Ending.

I sit on my doorstep on the last night of us, waiting to hear your familiar shuffle up the pathway, for you to tell me your goodbye story. While I wait in the chilled air, I smoke the worst cigarette of my existence. Each long and exaggerated inhale was like a last gasp of us: cancerous and foul, but requisite in taking the edge off the ticking clock of our relationship.
If only I could push the hands back. Pull time to a better place and a cleaner chapter in our book. Before life made it such a mess. Back to when we met and felt superior and indestructible in the way that only new lovers can.
So naive, isn’t it, that we felt holding hands would protect our love from the rest of them. Simple loves might fall and break too easily in the wind, but not us. No, our love would bend and sway. It would learn to lean with the storms rather than snap.
We made castles in our bed sheets that even fabled kings would envy. Guitar in hand, you wrote songs about my name, and ate everything I burned while playing house, all with your beautiful smile. We had everything we needed.
Then again, the minute people fall in love they become liars.
When it feels as though one more pull of my cigarette may burn my lungs right up, I hear the familiar drag of your shoes and my stomach falls.
We are here. Our time is up. I can’t wind back the hands on that clock, regardless of how much I long to.
“So this is it”, they say. It feels like we are here in this spot every time “it” is spoken.
This is always the clearest moment, right before your face turns black, and my eyes lock their gates back up. The moment where I feel you might be whole, and fit in just where that piece of me is missing. Only for a moment.
Didn’t we have it all? Couldn’t we again? Weren’t our entwined fingers stronger than everyone else’s?
Perhaps it’s just the rush of excitement, the fear of the unknown tomorrows coming our way, but for an instant you and I can lock our gazes on one another and forget about being tangled in life. Then, afraid of the intimacy that just danced between us I look down at my feet and feel the moment pass us. I don’t want to be another broken heart in the whispers of your songs anymore. For you and I, as we both have learned, have the greatest ability to break one another as only kindred can.
And then we turn cold, and say those familiar lines.
How did it get so backwards?
It’s me.
No, me.
We both.
I know.
I know.
And I almost want to cry

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I’ve said it before, I don’t have the patient gene.

God bless my husband.

Seriously.

We live in a condo, as do most of the people our age that we know, its kind of just the way of the world these days. Of course, with a condo, space and storage is always going to be an issue. Especially when you have a toy/book/clothes/everything obsessed two year old rooming next door. But me? Im an impatient obsessive organization-neat freak.
Im tidy to the max, yo.
So this condo-space-storage mix is a conundrum to my ocd brain. That wouldn’t normally be a problem, except when I get a ‘solution to fix this problem’ idea in my head…
I decided that our perfectly good, clean, well-working side-by-side washer and dryer were taking up too much space, and since we had recently purchased bikes, and fought the strata (and lost) for a bike lock up, we needed to find a way to store them IN our condo.

Remember that part I said about being an impatient obsessive organization-neat freak??

The bikes couldn’t go anywhere. BUT, I explained to my skeptical husband, what if we got a stackable washer-dryer combo? Then we had a whole half the utility closet at our disposal! Why, we could put a double hanging bike rack AND a recycling-cleaning-storing CENTER! I was thrilled with my idea, and with a little coaxing, so was my husband.
SO we planned to save up the money and buy a new unit.

Enter: my sister.

My older sister is moving her family to Ecuador this summer, and has recently renovated their house to sell. So, we’re walking through her house and she’s showing me all the changes and how nice everything looks. Then we get to the second laundry room (yeah, they have two… obviously not in a condo… bitch) and laments the stackable unit they have down there, because they didn’t want to invest in another side by side laundry set up like they have upstairs.

DING, DING, DING.

Whats that, you say? Why yes, I DID think this might be a perfect swap option for both of us! So, I asked my sister if she wanted a side by side, and I wanted a stackable… why didn’t we trade?
What an awesome idea!

Then, to be sure, I measured the unit, and our laundry closet at home. HUZZAH! A match.

So, Sunday (his one full day off) my dear, sweet husband and I borrowed my mom’s truck, and hauled that stackable (via a dolly, obviously) to our house, and our washer and dryer back to my sisters.

Then we set our new laundry area up, and I swooned.

Then my husband closed the closet doors. Or, rather, he tried to. But those doors? They would NOT close. Seriously.

It seems that, while the stackable was technically narrow enough to fit into the laundry closet, it wasn’t narrow enough for the bifold doors to slide past.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuck.

I tried to move the door track. Nope. I tried to turn the stackable the other way. Nope. I tried to put a curtain up. Nope.

So Monday morning, bright and early my dear, sweet husband and I borrowed my mom’s truck and hauled that stackable BACK to my sisters house, and our washer and dryer back to our house.

And set everything up the way it had been 24 hours and eight truck trips and two sore backs ago.

And my husband? Said nothing.

No, ‘why didn’t you measure accounting for the doors?’
No, ‘why aren’t you a little more patient when you decide to do things?’
No, ‘why am I the one hauling this massive stackable unit while you carry the cords??’
No, ‘this wouldn’t be happening if….’

My husband didn’t bitch or snap or glare at me once. Instead, he hugged me and told me he loved me and that our washer and dryer were nicer than theirs were anyways.

Thank you, husband-o-mine, for being patient when Im not. And for biting your tongue when I do things that might mean a little more work for us later. And for not making me feel worse when I make mistakes. And, always, for putting up with my hectic and now-now-now ideas and plans.

Now, I just have to figure out what to do with those bikes…

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Pretend this is February 24th.

This is coming exactly a week late. But in my excuse, in that week we had olympic celebrations (did you SEE that hockey game??), a birthday party fitting for a two year old princess, three colds (once each) and all the other usual hubbub in our house. Still, its late. And I know. But the fact is I wrote it on her birthday, I just haven’t posted it until now.

Anyways. My kid turned two last week. TWO. And this is what I want her to read, that I wrote sitting beside her on the eve of that enormous day.

Madelyn Olivia,

Its ten fifty one pm on your second birthday. I am sitting here, pen in hand, trying to find the words to fill a page. There are enough words, there are more than enough… But how do I string them together adequately enough, let alone eloquently enough for you? Beautiful you.
You are actually, at this moment, lying in between the pillows on my bed snowing heavily due to the cold you acquired this past weekend. Cushioned in a thick cold medicine induced sleep, snoring away so soundly. These past few days at bedtime you have found an unbelievable need to be held and rocked to sleep, your head resting on my shoulder. I tried to resist it, to enforce a bedtime routine, saying it was just a phase, you needed to cry it out and it would pass. But there is something about a baby, so soon to be a child, crying for her mama that can soften even the toughest of stone-set wills. And so here we are, ‘in the mama bed’, filled with your sweet snores and not enough words in the world to convey how much this fills up my heart.
You are two, Madelyn Olivia. Two years old. As you would say, throwing your arms out in dramatic fashion: are you kidding me?! TWO. Where has it all gone already?
I thought your first birthday was earth shattering. Another year has passed since then and even greater the changes have been.
The conversations we have now. The things you’ve told me. The things you’ve showed me. I marvel at you Madelyn.
I’ve been told by people that you’re so smart, and so beautiful and so advanced for your age. And I know this. I know you’re incredibly intelligent, and I think you probably know this as well… But theres more there. There’s something about you, and I can’t quite put my finger on what it is, but its something.
Im finding it hard to put into words what I want to say to you this year, so I will say this.
You are incredible Madelyn. I am a lucky person, and incredibly grateful to have been blessed with you. I hope to always be with you, supporting you, cheering for you and watching you accomplish anything you chose to do. And I hope to see the day you realize your potential and step into it. Because… Lord help the world the day Madelyn Baker has her way with it.

My baby, my little girl, my changing, growing, amazing, sweet, stupendous, radical two year old girl. Happy Birthday.

Love, Mama.

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Reading.

The video is shotty, sorry, its from a blackberry, but it gets a little better. But this is how we know FER SHURE she’s mine, because that’s me as a child.

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Airborne.

There is a song I cannot get enough of lately. I sit at my desk, pushing paper, or drive around, or dance with Madelyn, constantly hitting ‘back’ on my ipod to listen one more time. It makes my spine tickle. It starts with a heavy throbbing orchestral whine. It ends the same way too. I love that. I love when a song is crashing into your ears, heavy with rock, and then is intertwined with an achy violin. Oooooh.
Today is my last day at work. In less than an hour I will come out of my branch director’s office, layoff notice in hand, and walk out the door past our horribly annoying security guard for the last time.
The. Last. Time. After four years.
It feels surreal actually. It feels like… Hmm. I can’t explain it, really. Let’s look at it differently.
If this were a movie, as I imagine so many moments in my life to be, there would be music playing as our protagonist picks up the four years in this office she has reduced down to a file room box. There would be a swell of an orchestra wrapping around her shoulders, down her leg and between each finger as she casts a glance around the room which leaves our audience wondering aloud: is she sad? No, she’s happy. Wait, I don’t know… what is she feeling? I can’t tell.
And she walks out the door. She’s hesitant. She’s moving very deliberately, very slowly. Maybe she is just as confused as the audience. She can’t decide what feeling is stronger. She is sad that she is leaving, and she is scared that she in uncertain about her future. But she is exhilarated that maybe, for the first time, she is making the absolute right choice for her. She isn’t picking the safe route, or the easy one. She won’t sit at a desk in a mediocre job surrounded by people who make her feel bad for being one of them. She might actually get the chance to have a fulfilling career; a job she is in love with, and excited about.
That song will be playing in my head when I leave here today and go into the unknown of my life before me. It feels emotional. It feels romantic It feels overwhelming. It feels good. It feels sad. It feels perfect. It feels like it’s the right decision.

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Im coming back!

Im going to start blogging again. I dont even know when I actually ‘stopped’… I just did. But Im going to start again. After all, my impending layoff next week will provide many hours in the day I can flit away writing. Mmm.

But for seriousness, a real blog post will come this week, followed by more. I miss it, even if no one reads it!!

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And the rain is falling/And I believe my time has come

Its funny, well, not funny… but all day bits and pieces fall into my head and scream to be written down. But then the moment always comes, and I sit… and I have nothing.

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