ballet

so i have started taking ballet classes. i used to dance when i was young. and again when i was living in santa monica. i love the classical music. love the sound of the ballet shoes sashaying across the floor. it's relaxing to me. and on the top of the list of things i lost along with alot of blood and my sense of safety all those years ago. (also jogging, hiking, back country skiing, riding a bike, playing any sport that involves running and a lot of things that i used to love to do).

it is still hard for me to have to acknowledge that i have a bad leg and i will have a bad leg FOREVER. that i am not the person i used to know. that one night could take something from me as important, as huge, as basic as my ability to run and jump and to live on the third floor (as stairs are something my missing muscles and nerves do not seem willing or able to adapt to).

and so i try not to think about it. i try not to try. because when i do it feels like a rock falling on my chest and i feel so frustrated and sad i don't know what to do. and i miss the way my head used to feel after a jog. the wind on my face. i miss riding my bike down santa monica streets. the freedom in the fast-ness. the arrogant ways i would ride drinking my coffee, passing the cars on those crowded california streets. i felt better than them. and hiking. oh hiking. summers spent sleeping in a tent and taking on the next peak. that was my youth. that was my way. that was who i was.

so my rehab doctors said try yoga instead. try elliptical machines. recumbent bikes. try swimming. gentle things. walk. things made for broken people. (and all i hear is broken people like you). and i did. and i do. but sometimes it feels a little like giving up.

and i don't want to give up. so i am trying again. anyway. and who cares if i fuck up or my leg shakes or that i hate looking at my thighs in a leotard (a touch of body dysmorphia is what joe would say but i think i just hate the ways my legs have failed me).

and the shit is brutal. i'm not gonna lie. missing half my calf muscle on my left side makes balancing on that leg HARD. and each class i tell myself that i will just do half of each set to conserve my leg but i don't work that way. once i start i can't stop. i have to do them all. and it's not that relaxed stretching to classical music that it used to be. that whole body massage. it's more like that last mile in a marathon. every part of me having to push so hard to get that leg to just hold me up. but i am winning. the war.

i am making.
strides.

i am crossing things off that list.

tell me again what i can not do.

or eff you spaulding.

watch me go.

dream life

in my dream life i have things like a sunny yard, a rocking chair, fresh baked bread and tomato plants.

in my real life i am getting pretty close to all those things.

isn't that the way.

a series of the longest days. a bum leg acting bum. feeling so tired the ache won't go away. the boxing in that happens.

followed by this day. when the love is so real its like you know now how it was always supposed to be. and the streets feel like home. and the coffee does its thing just the way.

i was inspired at work this week by alot of little things. and then i went home and fell deeper in love than i have ever been.

Happy Birthday Kira.

grief

maybe it's because yesterday was the 7th, marking four entire months since he passed, or maybe it was the memorial benefit show, maybe it was the look in sam's eyes or the way those songs made me feel or maybe it's just that i have been listening the the soundtrack of once on repeat and my boy is feeling kinda grumpy. but for some reason these days have been so hard.

the things i need to tell ivan. you can't imagine all the things. you can't imagine all the stories and heartache that is locked up in my chest without him for the telling to. all the texts i have not been able to send. all the love i can't get from him. all his patience. all his laughter. all his ways he knew how to hear me. all the comfort i got in the forgiveness he would always give me. and i can't get that anywhere. anymore.

the alone. i feel. the heavy. in my heart.

the tears i cry. that mean nothing. that can't comfort me.

it's like i am waiting for the sky to open and for him to be here. that story. that line. that time-heals-all-wounds bull shit. kept waiting for the happily-ever-after of it all.

but this story is all about the climbing. the battle. the journey stripped down and standing naked in the light. all stretch marks and surgery scars.

the shape of my thighs. that shape that i hate. that smell of the city in the heat. the tight throat. the strike of his hand so close to my head but it never hits quite right and i am scared of the noise and of where this will go.

heart break doesn't even begin to name the things i am trying to say.

train rides

there was a pretty girl on the train this morning with the saddest eyes.

(it was me).

she was too young to know.

i wanted to reach for her as she walked through the door.

tell her it's going to be okay, but it's going to get much worse, first.

but of course i didn't say anything.

(and i never listen anyway.)

and along came the weekend.

and the weekend was good.

inside jokes,

pet names, flirtatious comments that aren't really what is said when it's just between friends.

why do girls gotta be such bitches.

sixth grade, i am so over you.