Fight Club

sometimes I wonder why scars are so visable on some people and on others they are not.

I watched Fight Club today for the first time. There is a steady stream of males in my life that all answered the same way when asked what their top 5 movies of all time are. Fight Club is almost always in the top 3.

And I guess I am going to need some male mind to explain it to me. I appreciated the twists and turns, but maybe the estrogen in my blood prevented me from seeing it the same way those that are predominatly ruled by testostrone.

So I welcome some male insight into this most intriguing of films.

a new day

Sometimes it happens so suddenly...a new day...sometimes it happens gradually, so much so in fact that you didn't really realize it was happening until you are riding home blinking away the late afternoon sun, happy and satisfied.

That's what happened to me today. I started out annoyed, was up too early for my enjoyment...I am after all "on vacation". (If you can call driving 4 days with trucks full of parents things, and sleeping in the living room of their tiny apartment a vacation). Maybe that is why I have made the mistakes I have made while I've been here. No, I will not tell what they were, enough of you know by now...Maybe it's because for SOME FREAKY WIERD reason there is some kind of magnetic shift in the plates underground and my right hemisphere has some wacky reaction to it which means doing things completely to surprize myself and the people who know me best.

I do strange things when I am here. That's probably another reason why it's so hard for me to come back.

I am in my hometown by the way, in case you hadn't picked that up from the previous postings...

So back to my day...I woke up too early and watched tv too long, then finally got up to pay bills. then my sister was over for lunch and mom came home...now at some point in all of that I suddenly had a realization (I think it was as I walked to the toaster to put bread in it) that the pj bottoms I was presently wearing at the time are the most comfortable things in the whole entirety of the world...for me anyway. So soft like only worn cotton can be and just plain perfect. I think it was at that point (pretty sure I did a happy jig in my most comfortable pj's) that my day began gradually becoming new.

Then I got out of my pj's to put on even more comfy clothes (not only in material nature, but also in color nature...wrinkley chocolate brown skirt and matching tank and pale pink shirt (a new favorite combo) YUMMIE), hair up in an unassuming bun, looking rather ravishing even without the makeup, if I might be so bold...finally donning fav pink flip flops and hot sunglasses I was ready for a little adventure with my mom, she was driving. Horray!

We went down to LaConnor, a cute little off the beaten path tourist shopping place, with nothing but adorable boutiques and awesome gallaries, all filled with things by local artists. Quite the treat. I don't know if there is anything better than those days when you feel absolutely comfortable in your own skin, and in knowing that realizing the absolute power you possess.

My mother and I lesiurely perused differant interesting shops, getting filled with new ideas and a little annoyance at why people would pay so much money for something, and boy we had better do something about it. having a late start made it only a short trip to the quaint little shopping district of the home of the tulip fair.

A little more on comfort...
I am coming to realize that there is a natural beauty a woman possesses if she is comfortable with herself just the way she is. Even if she is not "naturally" attractive on the symetrical scale of how the human mind processes beauty, there is something about the way she holds herself not to blame that makes her automatically a safe place.

I wonder if that is not why I am here. To somehow repave old paths in my brain with some sort of truth that was pounded out by countless lies through my youth of how I was not symetrical enough for society. And now, with some unknown confidence, in a newly discovered power, I walk differant. I pass the mirror and look. Normally I hurry past it, ignoring the reflection all together because of the shame I mostly feel. But now...hum...I pause and, not in vanity, admire features I forgot exsisted on my frame. Somethings' changed. No longer a hideous ogre, unable to be loved...in some strange and painful twist of fate I see for the first time why I am named "Graceful".

And so the new day has maybe possibly become newer in deeper nuances of meaning. Maybe all this pain was really to uncover undiscovered and undelighted in beauty in a creature as unlikely as me.

We woundup the trip by driving up my favorite stretch of marriage between asphalt and beauty. It's called Chuckanut Drive. I then realized as I hung my head out the window dispite the cool sharpness in the air (imagine that on an August 2nd) to sniff the unmistakable, unreproducable smell of heaven made only by trees, undergrowth, moss, ferns, salt water, and clean air, that I was happy. Happy to be me, right then right there, going the opposite direction I had always gone as a child...wondering what it was all for...

more thoughts later.

poster

How do you live in a house that is static with the sound of gripping silences, filled with anger, disappointment, failure, and pain?

How do you call such a place "home" that has stifled you and given you the wrong name? What's to become of you in the suppos-ed comfort of your suppos-ed home where all you are is chained to the ideal of what a mediocre life should be,

and you, my friend, have become the poster child.

I used to call you home...

Bellingham, I used to call you home:

Vague familial ties keep me coming back to you.

“The Great Green Haunting”, that’s what I shall name you.

Constantly eroding the softened edges of my memories, singing an enchanted tune, calling me, like the tide responds to the moon, home to the shores of my belabored birth.

And so I return, and like a bitter sweet reunion you tell me you were once in love with me in our youth and now so much time has passed your heart has turned for a less softened girl.

It seems to me that you cannot handle the femininity I now carry between my lips, my arms, my hips. You can’t seem to handle the confidence with which I step.

You awakened for a moment to show me your strength and then you denied all feeling, and gravitational pull to what you know is your dream finally fulfilled in a being too real to be true.

And yet, here I am.

I walk barefoot in the grass whenever I come home, I like the grass here. It’s cool and sort of sticky and somehow it roots me to the earth…

You never were enough for me, but the memory of your beauty and the desire that curbs all of your roughened edges still gives me some unfounded hope that someday I will not come home to pain.

You. Are a cross that I bear, and I probably feel the same to you, and we are both weighted down by unspoken paragraphs of pain, desire, truth, beauty, strength, and something I think might be love.

And this time its different, it’s the end of something, of unrequited desire that lay smoldering for years. Snuffed out finally by time and so many tears, held captive inside of me, I forgot to breathe, pain so great, I’d love to hate, but find myself unable or unwilling or maybe I’ve just learned how to be forgiving after all of these years.