Beverly Jean.

December 8, 2010

When I think about death I think primarily of the living. I don't know if this makes me seem cold or emotionless or if it is a transformation of thought that allows me to ignore reality.

Because yesterday was your death date. And it came for me a bit unexpected. The last time we heard your voice, we all thought you were doing fine. It exuded joy, happiness, and every bit of normality as possible. It was beautiful, and a beautiful last thought to hold on to forever within.

You were nothing less than loved and I hope the strength you've exhibited in this life will remain here with the ones who loved you. Your mother. Your daughter. Your sisters. Your... family.

Please Beverly Jean you have to leave it here. You have to leave everyone your strength. For a mother to lose her first born child, the first joy she's ever known. For a daughter to lose her world, because you carried it for her on your shoulders. For younger sisters to lose the first person they looked up to. For a husband to lose his one true love.

... needless to say ... it's hard. I hope they can carry with them the same strength that you have so that when you look down upon us you are not filled with sadness looking at sad people during sad times. Give them your spirit of strength so that the warmth you placed around us and within us will always remain.

For we are happier now that you are free of a cancerous burden and walking hand in hand with your father. Daddy's girl. But we are sadder because we have lost our Beverly Jean.

I'm sure you've heard it before.

Wow? Two post in one month? I know, amazing...

Happiness is funny.

The things that used to make us happy. The things that gave us the greatest joy. Suddenly become the things that you can live without.

On the outside - it looks like my life is the worst it has ever been. No job. No love life. No anything. On the outside, it looks like I'm struggling. But ironically, I feel like I have more clarity now than I ever did when I was working dead end jobs. When I was staying up all night to finish college. When I thought the love of my life was right next door.

Now that my life is a blank canvas I have the opportunity to begin again and create anything I want. And guess what? I LOVE IT!

There's so many things that disrupt my peace. That disrupt my well-being. And even though they are still in my life, I'm in transition. I know what they are; I know who they are. And I'm making progressive steps for my peace of my mind. It may not be an easy road, but I will get there.

Happiness. It's a journey and you have to work towards it every day.

Today is my day. My day is everyday- and no one is going to get in the way of my happiness.

That's a promise.

float on.

I forgot how good it feels to write, to release the emotions running through your head on a daily basis. The ink to pen sensation is somewhat lost among the click of the keyboard, but all the while, the mental liberation still remains...

All the years of my life, I have never been much of a Winter person. A lot of it has to due with fashion and my iron levels. Up until now, the flip flops and skirts that frequent the Summer have always gained my attention over stuffy jackets and finger restricting gloves. But not this season. This season, I have engulfed myself in layers upon layers. Seeing how many different ways you can layer a single item satisfies my creativity a lot more than any of my feather light Summer dresses.

Summer also became my favorite season simply because of the sky high temperatures. Rather thin, my body tends to get cold easily. But this Winter, I called myself "training" my body. I wore stockings and skirts and told my body to deal with it. I am not sure if it worked but I am certain of one thing - I love Winter.

It's set to rain every day this week and I am looking forward to it. The sun was shining a lot the past two weeks and the sight of any Winter disappeared. As long as I remain indoors and don't get caught in any storm, I should be in a good mood all week.

The sounds of raindrops on the windowpane. Watching the last of the rain drop from the rooftops. Sky high boots splashing through puddles. The warmth of the heater after coming in from the crisp cold outdoors. Layers of scarves entangled on necks. Curled up in a blanket while eating warm soup.

What's not to LOVE...? While it may not be warm outside, there is a lot of warmth in Winter. It's just a bit different and magical.

p.s. Don't be surprised if come Summer months I have the urge describe how it really is my favorite season. But that's okay. There's always enough love to go around.

Searching for Air.

There's something terribly wrong with me. I haven't figured out what it is just yet, but some type of emptiness has come over me and replaced everything that was once there. I find myself doing things I have never done. Calling old friends to see how they're doing is fine and well if there is sincerity behind it. I pick up the phone not for their benefit, but for mine. I'm lonely and grasping onto anything in my reach...

I can't escape this hollowness between my fingertips. The lingering of you. The absence of purpose. The uncertainty of any future. It's beyond absurd. I guess I'm just missing the point of everything. The point of living without materialism. The point of living without love. The point of living without a purpose. That's what I get for dreaming. That's what I get for burying my hopes and dreams in the photobooks of others.

But not even all the prettiest pictures in the world will save me. Just a moment in time. Not even the highest heels will make me stand with more conviction. Shoulders hunched, head down I walk through life in shambles. Falling over before I get pushed. Emotionally cutting off the happiness before it's birthed from innocence, my glimmer of hope, cut off from sunshine, dwindles ten times a day. If I can manage to end my days anywhere but at the bottom, I will continue to pick myself up. I will continue to pick up the pieces.

Young couples dancing ever so sweetly beneath the streetlights. Kissing, teasing ever so gracefully, running on tiptoes caught in the moment.

I think that can be us. In another lifetime. Minus the drugs and the misguided emotion we'd be perfect for each other. Dancing under moonlight to the rhythm in our own heads. As I look back, it's not so much what you did than it is what I didn't do. The only surprises tucked beneath my heart was the materialism layed before me on a daily basis. Enjoying company is overrated when the self transforms itself into the only thought worth relevance.

Where have I been and where will I find you. Yours for only a moment and my mind is lost in ecstasy. Have you forgotten me...

Because I miss you, terribly.

Title.

Every book needs a title, just as every person needs a name. The title, in the end, is always irrelevant. It may appeal to our senses or some type of subconscious desire, but ultimately it is the content under the title that gives birth to the soul of the book, the person, and this blog.

So here it is. My Conflated. Reality.

I give birth to words with no meaning, confusing my dreams into my waking life. Reality blurs, blending its colors into the tomorrows of yesterday and the yesteryear of this year. Lost in days that no longer exist my existing days are washed away by the fabrication of thought that seems to swallow my reality on a daily basis. Its always turning backwards or looking forwards, leaving the present place-less. Forced to stand on its own it is always hoping. always wanting. For that- new day. The day when dreams are just memories, swept up gently and cascading for use by the abundance. The day when conflated realities are disintegrated into the purity needed to save my soul's sanity from its drowning veracity. When will I just be. Until then, I will give birth to words with no meaning because this is my Conflated.Reality.