Re-cap...

As always I seem to be scrambling to catch up on things, namely this outlet I’ve created here. From work, to school, to moving, (twice in a month!!!) to traveling to both Ireland and Atlanta for my best friend Kat’s wedding, training for an upcoming marathon, and completing another year of NaNoWriMo’s writing challenge, life has been a wee bit hectic. Looking back, what had happened was... The apartment I found on craigslist.com that belonged to my landlord wasn’t available until October 1st. Jeff and I needed to be out of our respective places by September 1st. My roommate Dana found a cute one bedroom in Rogers Park and Jeff’s roommates were still looking for a place. When Jeff and I decided to go look at the apartment my landlord said he’d give it to us first if we wanted it but we would have to let him know that same night. At least ten other people including us were there to see the small two bedroom in Wicker Park. I wanted it immediately mostly because of it’s location, but I also liked the actual space. Accepting this offer meant we’d have to move twice in a month and we didn’t know where we would live for the month of September. My landlord said he had a small one bedroom we could rent for the month. This was less than stellar but it was something at least. After looking at the place Jeff and I went to dinner to mull over this decision. I was “yes” all the way but he was taking a little longer to decide. Finally...he agreed, I called my landlord and it was set. The next day at work while telling my co-worker Audrey this, she mentioned that she was looking for someone to take care of her cats and apartment for the...entire month of September because she was taking a month long trip to Spain. We jumped on that like white on rice. Moving day was a disaster for Dana and me. (and possibly Jeff if you ask him...) Our movers showed up 5 hours late, looked at our stuff and said there was “too much” and left. The freakin’ left!!! Thankfully Jeff’s roommates had their moving truck all night. He drove over to help us first move Dana to Rogers Park, then come back to my apartment, sleep for a couple of hours and get up to move my stuff into the storage unit Jeff rented for us. Dana and her boyfriend rode their bikes down to help us and so did Jeff’s roommate Micah who had to take the truck back to the rental place. Jeff and I cabbed it with a month’s worth of clothing up to Audrey’s apartment in Rogers Park. She just so happens to live down the street from Dana’s new place! It was so nice to be somewhere else for a moment after all the crazy of apartment hunting, packing and moving. During our time in Rogers Park, I ran along the lakefront path, Jeff visited his cousin Nick and his wife Becky every Sunday at the Rogers Park Farmers Market, we discovered new coffee shops and restaurants, getting to work was a breeze but getting home from school wasn’t so fun commuting with everyone who was getting off of work by the time I was getting out of class. Living with Jeff was smooth sailin'. I was expecting some kind of transition phase where we were getting used to each other’s habits and such but nope, it was as if we’ve been doing this all along. I would feel my entire being light up at the sound of his keys in the door when he arrived home from work. We cooked together, talked, watched movies and settled into our temporary space rather quickly. Audrey has two cats, Kitterham Lincoln and LG. Kitter was not pleased to see us. Most of our time together was spent watching him hiss at us until I left for Ireland to attend Kat’s wedding and upon my return, Jeff and Kitter had totally bonded. Ireland was beautiful. I spent the day in Atlanta with my family before flying out to Dublin with Kat's parents. From there her dad drove us three hours north to Limavady, the quiet, tiny little town Kat's now-husband Gordon is from. I was there for five days. The weather was gross except for the day of the wedding. (Jeff's 34th birthday)The sun came out and blessed us with slightly warmer temperatures and beautiful pictures. The next day we went on an epic tour with the best man, Keith. He drove all the Americans around showing us all sorts of interesting places such as Giant's Causeway and the Buschmills Inn. I went to sleep at 11:00pm and woke up at 2:30am to drive back to Dublin with some friends so we could fly back to Atlanta. I don't remember the last time I was that tired... October came in a blink of an eye. Jeff, his cousin Nick and I moved our stuff out of storage and into our apartment. I stayed in Rogers Park for another week to take care of the cats as Audrey was still out of town. Jeff’s mom flew in for a brief visit and at the end of the week, I had moved out of Audrey’s and into our place. A few days later I turned 31. Things were still effortless. My parents came and helped us paint our living room a week after my birthday. Jeff and I began the never ending search for more furniture as I was dying to get rid of the couch I brought with me that was left over from my first Chicago apartment. We settled in nicely, thankfully agreeing on how we wanted things done and slowly getting unpacked. I was thrilled to be taking the high speed train to work and to brew my own coffee at home after Jeff taught me how to do it the way he does it at work instead of getting up crazy early and heading downtown every day.

November began along with NanoWriMo, the 50,000 words in 30 days challenge that I did last year. I decided to write a different story this year and not focus so much on the hair industry. For whatever reason, this proces was nearly effortless. I woke up at 5:00am every day, made coffee and breakfast and wrote for an hour or so before heading out for a run. (I’m running a marathon in Jacksonville Florida in February.) Words spilled out of me and onto the once blank screen of my computer. I loved it so much. It felt like someone had given me CPR after a near death experience drowning in an ocean of “what am I doing with my life?” Twenty five pages in, I had an odd feeling that I should back up my work. Now. I tried to shake it, tell it it was being ridiculous, that my plan last year was to back up every fifty pages and I would do it again this year. The feeling persisted and I’ve experienced it enough to know not to reckon with it. I backed up my work on a Google doc. Meanwhile, at work, we were getting ready do put on a hair/fashion show at a venue not too far from our apartment. The proceeds from the tickets and raffle tickets we sold were going to be donated to an organization for children with Down's Syndrome. This is the first event I've actually cut hair for. I used to want to do this when I first started out in the hair industry but was told "no" so many times from my previous employer that I stopped asking. I decided to ask one more time as I don't see my career in hair lasting another 12 years. I was accepted with open arms and swept into the more creative aspect of my job. It was exhilerating to see my model on a stage, to know I created that shape on her head. However, it did not fill me up in the way I expected it to. My mind had still been wondering..."what-if?" It thought that maybe I'd still want to do work for various shows and or teach but no. The night was fun but that's all it was. .

I wrote ten more pages of my novel. On a Friday afternoon I went out for a run, feeling full of love for our apartment, for Chicago and for Jeff. It was a beautiful day. He and I went out that night getting drinks at a bar downtown and went to the movies. We walked to the train afterwards, went home and got ready for bed. I wanted to take my computer to work the next day to write before my first client and walked into the living room to get my backpack. I had left it next to Jeff’s propped up on the couch. As I walked in I noticed my notebook and a text book were on the floor but there was no backpack. Jeff’s was there though. I stared at this scene thinking it was odd. There was no reason for either of us to take my things out of the backpack and move it. “Honey, have you seen my backpack?” I asked him. He came out of our room and stood with me. “No...” he walked into the second bedroom. Nothing. I’m still staring at my things on the floor knowing something isn’t right. Jeff joins me, his big toe tapping the case that covers his computer. It’s gone. He makes a beeline for the window, the one with the faulty latch, and finds it cracked open. We stare at each other in disbelief. Someone just came right on in and took our things. My camera, computer and a few small things were in that backpack. This is the second computer Jeff has had stolen in Chicago. I raced around checking for other valuables grateful to see they’re all there. We walked to a police station to file a report and sadly walked back home as there isn’t much that can be done. Sure we were glad we weren’t home, we weren’t hurt, they didn’t ransack the place and didn’t take anything else but our lives were on those machines. My trips, and other memories are on the laptop along with those ten pages I didn't back up. A day later I had to leave for Atlanta for Kat's wedding round two. My grandmother was in the hospital for a broken hip. The day I arrived was her’s and my grandfather’s 63rd wedding anniversary. I had to blink back my tears at the sweetness that they are. She told me he spoils her so much that she’s desperate to get home and out of the care of the people in the hospital because he does everything better. He brought her flowers and has stayed with her as much as he can. Before the wedding, my sweet parents replaced my computer. I met Kat and Gordon at their place, cut his hair, got myself and Kat ready and we were off again! The ceremony was short and sweet. I danced with my parents, met up with friends I haven’t seen since I moved away and had a ball. The next morning I was up at 5:00am and heading back to Chicago. I passed out. I lost four days of work that I didn’t back up on my old computer. Days after getting back to Chicago, the rage I was unable to feel upon realizing our things had been taken was ever present. I again, tried to remind myself that at least we weren’t hurt and we still had everything else but that wasn’t calming me down. I shared all of this with Jeff and he also aired his feelings as well. In the days following this I didn't sleep or shower unless he was home. My overactive imagination was running away with me and all rationality at any chance it got. I would perk up at every little noise and stare at the window that is finally latched properly thanks to Jeff pushing all of his weight on the damn thing making it shut and lock properly. Thoughts of quitting this November writing challenge crossed my mind. I had already lost so much time and work. The idea of quitting though was more painful than trying to catch up so off I went, writing as fast as my fingers could go before the sun was up every day. I tried to spend more time on my days off with it until one day, I was back on track again. I experienced only two days of hating it, telling myself that my project was stupid, pointless and I was a shitty writer. Last year, there were more like two weeks of that nonsense. I got over it, wrote anyway, and finished on November 26th, four days early. The next four days were devoted to finishing a five page paper for my humanities class. The entire month went by in a giant whirlwind. So here we are in December. School is over for the semester. I am not increasing my work hours as I'm determined to enjoy the holiday season for the first time in twelve years. Jeff and I will be staying in town. I'm looking forward to baking, writing, drawing, relaxing for now...oh and Christmas shopping. So much Christmas shopping. Wish me luck.

Movin...

As if finals, transferring schools, and working weren’t enough to deal with Jeff and I are moving in together!!! This is certainly a bright spot in the midst of the angst and sadness I’ve felt over having to leave PCOM. I am ecstatic to share my life, my whole life with him. Of course there is one lil catch. Renting in Chicago just got way more challenging than we had ever expected. People said things. They said that renting had become quite competitive because no one is buying. They said to start early, bring a pay stub, and be prepared to make split second decisions. I didn’t exactly believe any of this because I didn’t want to. I had never ever had a problem with finding an apartment. Until now when I felt like I’m making one of the more major decisions in my life. Visions of my twenty three year old self float through my mind. She is walking through the streets of London with her friend Robert exclaiming how she’s never going to live with someone before being married. “Why?” Robert asks. “Why wouldn’t you want to know how to share a living space with someone you’re going to spend the rest of your life with?” “It spoils the surprise of marriage!” Miss Twenty Three retorts thinking he’s outside of his mind. “I fully believe that God won’t let me enter something that huge without it being “right”.” she adds. Today at thirty I still believe that God won’t steer me down the wrong path. However. Yes. I want to know how to share living space with my dear sweet love. I felt I came to a similar path several years ago. I had lived alone for five years, and started to think before I got any older, I may need to learn to know what it’s like to live with another human. My reasoning for not finding a roommate once I left my parent’s house at nineteen was because I knew once I was home from work, I wanted silence. I didn’t want to answer to anyone, didn’t want to talk to anyone and wanted any mess that was present to be mine and mine alone. This worked out very well. I really enjoyed being by myself. I got to be social all day with my clients and co-workers. I went out at night after I turning twenty one and came home alone making whatever noise I wanted to. I sometimes went to bed late, sometimes early. I woke up whenever I felt like it when I wasn’t expected at work. I listened to Coldplay so much that to this day when I hear the album “A Rush of Blood to the Head” I am instantly transported to the year 2002 in that tiny apartment holding on to dreams of moving to San Francisco. I watched the news on my ancient TV I had had since I was thirteen. Triscuits and cheese were often dinner, ice cream was for breakfast on more occasion than I care to admit. Grocery shopping gave me a secret thrill being I could have whatever I wanted. After a couple of years I moved to a bigger apartment. It was fancier than my previous one. I abandoned my dreams of moving to San Fran, and a year later quit my job in favor of a smaller salon. During this time I had also decided that I needed to learn to live with another human so I didn’t get “weird” or become some kind of kooky cat lady. My best friend Kat bought a condo and a short while later, I was her roommate. This worked out swimmingly. Living with Kat was lovely. We had the same ideas on everything except for air conditioning. I wanted to blast it, she however did not but we managed. Since then I’ve lived with a plethora of people and it’s been mostly good. The not so good ones have made for entertaining stories. The itch to share the intimate details of my home life with a significant other has been ever increasing. My ex-boyfriend Charlie mentioned it shortly after we met. Panic filled my chest as I wasn’t sure I could do that or that I even wanted to. With Jeff there is no panic, only joy and an irritating fear of not finding a place… “You guys won’t be homeless.” One of my clients pointed out. Of course I know this, but the not knowing of where exactly we’ll be and when we’ll find this place is eating me alive. “No one is responding to my emails on craigslist!” I exclaimed to Jeff one night. “I don’t understand!” We were sitting on his bed with his laptop open combing through various apartment ads. He didn’t have any answers either. I picked up the phone and called a woman about her coach house, leaving a message. One guy did respond though. He wanted to show a two bedroom near Jeff’s apartment. I couldn’t make it but Jeff could. He sent me a text later saying it was too small for what they were asking for it. A few days later I went to look at a one bedroom but it was rented before the guy could give us an application. Back to the drawing board… I felt like I was becoming a bona fide stalker in contacting people. I was getting to work early so I could comb ads. I sent countless emails, called several people who posted their numbers and nothing. I was becoming so obsessed with my email inbox that I told myself it was time for a break. I didn’t take a break though out of fear that I’d miss something. Several of my co-workers were moving and were all up against the same issues. Dana found a place up north from riding her bike around the area. I was instantly jealous when she turned in her application. My manager Amy also found a place for October. Was I doing something wrong? One day I opened an ad for two bedroom in Wicker Park. I instantly recognized the email address attached to the ad. It was my landlord’s. Hmmm… the place wasn’t available until October first. We needed to move September first. I kept searching. Despite the searching I couldn’t stop thinking about that ad. What could it hurt to ask my landlord if we could have it early? Maybe the tenants wouldn’t mind leaving early. Maybe they would. It couldn’t hurt to ask. I sent off a quick email and hoped for the best. In the past when I’ve looked for places I’ve just “known” something about them. I’ve “known” that those places I’ve had that “feeling” about are “it”. I didn’t feel that with this place but the fact that I couldn’t stop thinking about it meant something to me. Before leaving work, I checked my email for the thousandth time. Nothing. Frustrated I logged out and went home.

Finals, finals, finals and...The End!

“In forty eight hours this will be over.” One of my clients said to me as I was finishing his hair. I was explaining my anxiety over my math exam. The final is sixty percent of my grade so yeah no pressure but I have to pass. I’m really not sure I’ve ever passed a math final. Still, I stayed relatively optimistic because like he said, it’s going to end and I’ll never have to think about it again. The exam was only ten questions which was great because it didn’t take forever to complete it. On the flip side, should I miss one, that’s an instant ten point deduction. Anyway, it came and went. I had no feelings of anxiety like I usually do. I simply accepted that I knew what I knew and that was that. Dana had helped me earlier in the week. I had studied on my own some and felt that whatever was going to happen was going to happen. “Do you want to see your grade before the exam?” my teacher asked as I turned in my completed test. “Sure.” He typed something on his laptop and turned it so I could see it. “You have an eighty one going in.” “Wow. Thank you.” I replied, remaining oddly emotionless. I walked away, packing up my things and left. On Thursday I had to take my Swedish Massage final. There is an odd number of students in that class. When I took my midterm I had to work on one person with another person and I didn’t like it. To make sure that didn’t happen again, I asked Rich if I could bring Jeff to which he replied yes. I was thrilled for Jeff to be there, to see what I do for nine hours a week in that building, and for him to meet Rich. Nothing much was said though because all we had to do was give a massage and leave. Of course the day I bring Jeff in there is an even number of people. I worked on him anyway being one of the girls was 20 minutes late to class. I put a little more into working on him than most other people I’ve encountered. The same thing happens when I cut his hair. It’s nice to extend this part of myself to him. Once I finished, he left and the girl who came in late worked on me. I’m really going to miss this class. Getting a relaxing massage at the end of a long day once a week is epic! I later fell into bed happy to have two exams down and one to go. The next morning I had craniosacral therapy with Rich again. His written exams are usually multiple choice. He told us this one would be open-note which sounded great until I saw that the exam was essay style. I nearly quit in the middle of it. I felt I couldn’t write anymore. My brain was mush, my hands didn’t feel like pushing the pen anymore and I just wanted to be outside. I hated that I had to leave this experience. I hated that I was misinformed and had to scramble to fix that by applying to another school that wasn’t nearly as kind as this one on a daily basis. I hated that I no longer cared much about something I was once so passionate about being I wasn’t going to be practicing as a massage therapist. I stopped writing. I took off my glasses and sighed. I stared at the blurry image of the window in front of me. Sometimes I’m amazed at how little I can actually see without my glasses. I often wonder what’s going to happen when I need reading glasses. Am I going to be legally blind? Another sigh escaped me before I reminded myself that I couldn’t just quit now. I’d be so embarrassed if I turned in a half completed exam simply because I “didn’t feel like finishing it.” I put my glasses back on my face and got back to it. Once we finished the written portion we had to complete a practical portion. This included giving a treatment to each other. For the first time ever, as I was being worked on I felt something bubble up and threaten to release but I mentally smacked it down, refusing to feel anything. I didn’t want an emotional release. I just wanted to relax and have this end soon. When everything was completed I turned in my final telling Rich I’d see him soon for a treatment. I made a mental note to make good on that and book an appointment soon. I left the building rather quickly feeling odd that I have quite the attachment to this whole experience. It’s not like I’m quitting the whole thing, just taking yet another path, and trying to remain open to wherever that will lead…

Academic Chaos Part Three...

Days before my first final (math) at PCOM I found myself once again at Harold Washington. Why? I just found out that I have in fact been denied financial aid via snail mail. How I’m going to make these new payments happen is going to be a God given miracle. I quickly filled out all the paperwork (SO much paperwork!) for the scholarship and now needed my high school transcripts. I walk into the registrar’s office and ask for them. “I’ll be right back.” the man behind the desk tells me and gets up disappearing into a room. I stand and wait. Minutes tick by. He returns without anything in his hands. He mutters something to the lady sitting next to him. She replies with something I don’t understand. Something about files that were placed somewhere else. He leaves again. More minutes tick by. The man returns and says that he can’t find them. Umm…Great. He said that the guy who took them from me originally no longer works there and he doesn’t know what this person did with the transcripts he took. He advises me to ask my high school to fax over my transcripts. Fighting the urge to scream yet again, I remember that PCOM has my transcripts. I leave Harold Washington and get the transcripts from PCOM. Within minutes they produce the transcripts and I go to the school’s library to study for my math exam before Swedish massage class. After a few minutes the numbers seem to all blend together. I pull out my phone and text a co-worker who is also going through the same nightmare I am with registering at Harold Washington. I explain my financial aid crap and she has to do the same. She set up a payment plan which I will have to do as well. As I send another text something dreadful fills my mind. I slam my book shut and race out of the library, then downstairs, then out the door and back over to Harold Washington. Thank God the schools are so close together. What is filling me with utter terror is the fact that I didn’t pay for my classes the day I registered which means I am no longer registered. Which will mean sitting in that wide open ocean of a space hoping there is still room in the classes I need to get in. I don’t have time for this. Not with finals coming up. Not to mention I’m still doing my job. Jeff is in Colorado right now visiting his family, and I miss him. I feel like a fish out of water trying to breathe again. Back at the registrar’s desk I explain my situation to the woman that was helping the guy help me with my transcripts. “This has been an utter nightmare!” I exclaimed to her, knowing this isn’t her fault but I’m coming apart at the seams. “I know honey. I know you’ve had a hard time.” she typed quickly, staring at the computer screen. “Ok, it looks like you’re still registered but I don’t know how long you’ll be in the system. You need to go to the business office and pay for your classes right now.” I thank her and race upstairs to the office. I have exactly sixty minutes before massage class starts. “So, what happened?” the same short haired black woman who stamped my original schedule is staring at me in disbelief. I’m back in the business office explaining my financial aid issue. “I was told I was able to get loans and now, I’ve been told that no, I’m not approved for loans. I need to pay for my classes. Now.” I repeated myself. She gave me a list of instructions including going over to the computers behind me, signing up for automatic payment, putting ten percent down and going to the registration office for a new schedule and bringing it back to her for her to stamp. Within a few minutes online and a few more minutes standing in line, I had my new schedule. “Make sure you come back on August thirteenth to get your student ID. You have to have your schedule with you to get it. OK? Don’t forget.” the woman told me. I thanked her and left, racing over to PCOM for class grateful there was nothing else to do regarding my schedule or registration.

Cuteness...

After all that crazy I'd like to take a moment and focus on something adorable...

Something delicious...

and something precious... :)

Without cats, sugar and lovin' I'm not sure where I'd be right now..;)

Academic Chaos Part Two...

A In between work and class on Wednesday I raced to Harold Washington to get my placement test results and settle up financial aid stuff. I had already switched everything over on my FAFSA form but wanted to stop by the office to make sure everything was fine. Getting my results took five seconds. I’m able to take college level English and only one remedial math class. YAY!!! I thought I would be stuck taking math forever. My perception changed when I saw that the level of math I would be taking is a high school level class. That is where my education with math stopped. How did I ever expect to take a college level class when I’ve never taken college level math? I found the financial aid office to be rather full. I had an hour before class. I took a number from the machine dispensing them at the door and sat down in a chair against the wall. I briefly stayed motionless feeling boredom creeping into my mind. I pulled out my novel from my purse and got to reading. Half and hour passed. Another fifteen minutes went by and I decided that I would be skipping class. Finally my number was called and I met with an advisor who advised me to pay for classes myself instead of taking out more loans. I know loans are a bad idea but school is stressful enough. I don’t want to be freaking out about money too. I signed some papers, got online to fill out more stuff and when I turned them in she said that I could apply for a scholarship based on my grades from high school. Wow. OK. I left and met up with Jeff. The following Monday I went back to Harold Washington to actually register for classes. I got there half an hour before the doors open and already there was a line of twenty people waiting. Once the doors opened we were separated into two lines. I got to stay in the line of people who had their placement test stuff done already. I thought it would move faster but no. When it was finally my turn, I handed over my paperwork and driver‘s license, beaming at being so super organized. “Is this the address that is on your application?” the woman asked. “No.” I shook my head feeling my chest tighten up. I still have a Georgia license. “You need to have proof of residence to register for classes.” I nearly burst into flames. WHAT?! I wanted to scream. NO ONE TOLD me I would need such documents!!! I calmly stated that and she simply repeated herself asking for a lease or a bill. I left and raced home not believing this was happening, and with tears stinging my eyes. I couldn’t miss another math class. I had about three hours to get home, get the lease, get back downtown and register. The line certainly wasn’t getting any shorter… At home I stormed around the kitchen tearing through a drawer to find our lease. I freaked the cats out with my stomping around and felt guilty about that hoping my neighbors weren’t home. Luckily public transportation was cooperating swimmingly. I caught the bus and train just as they were pulling up. I went back to stand in line, dealing with the same woman from earlier. She looked at my lease, typed some stuff on her computer and handed it back to me. The room was full of people. My anxiety was off the charts. I had no idea what classes I even wanted to take and how it was going to work. A man’s booming voice interrupted my mental freak out. He instructed all of us in the waiting area to move upstairs to continue registration. We all moved at a sloth’s pace out of the room, down the hall and up the stairs to a large open space with tables and chairs set up. The tables were for the advisors, and the rows of chairs for all of us. I sat in the middle of the middle row (I’m all about balance…) with a number I had been given by the woman who needed my lease. I watched the advising process for about a minute before pulling out my novel again. Concentrating was hard though. I was very aware of everything going on around me wondering what was going to happen to my schedule, hoping I wouldn’t have to rearrange work. “I should’ve brought a book.” a woman’s voice said to me. I looked up at a pretty black woman in a red dress with long waist-length braids draped over her shoulders as she sat down next to me. “I’m never without a book!” I laughed. “I’m usually not but today, I don’t know, I just walked out without it.” I smiled and shifted my attention to the addition of even more people joining us filling up neighboring chairs. “We’re gonna be here all day.” she sighed. “I know.” “Did you just graduate high school?” she asked. I laughed and told her no, but didn’t say how long it had been since I had seen my high school days. I went back to my book smiling to myself. Just out of high school I wore a lot of make-up and people thought I was much older. Now I’m doing good to get just the basics on and people think the opposite. In Evanston I am mistaken for being a Northwestern undergrad on a regular basis and I never tire of it knowing it will eventually come to an end. Two hours later my number is called. I had a vague idea of what I wanted to take at that point, having looked over the fall class schedule. I brought PCOM’s requirements with me so I could make sure I take their required courses even though after all that’s happened, I’m not so sure anymore that I’m going to stick with that plan. We’ll see. Of course a lot of classes are full already. I couldn’t quite believe how quickly all that happened. I am able to keep my work schedule in place and register for English 101, Art and Ideas (??) and of course Math 99. We can’t forget that one… “Hmm. This says you were denied financial aid.” my advisor is staring at her computer screen. “I was denied the Pell Grant but I’m taking out loans.” “Maybe that’s it. I don’t know though, I’d check that out if I were you. I’m going to print your schedule.” There is no way I’m denied financial aid… right? I stared at the computer screen. I see the word “denied” but surely that doesn’t pertain to my situation right? The words of another advisor, the one who led us up the stairs to this giant room bounce around in my head. “You must go to the business office after you register. If you don’t pay for your classes they will be dropped in twenty four hours and you will have to register again.” There is also no way I’m going to sit in that financial aid room again. At least not today. I can’t miss another math class at PCOM. Once I have my schedule I walk over to the business office and my schedule is stamped by a black woman with super short hair. “You’re all set.” she smiled, handing over my paperwork. “Thank you.” I returned her smile and left feeling uneasy as I raced over to PCOM. I met with my dean. I explained my situation and said that I was withdrawing. He apologized for the miscommunication and sent me to financial aid to fill out paperwork. Once I got there my head was spinning in all directions. The kind woman explaining everything to me looked at me a little oddly when I asked her to write everything down. I had to get online and do some “exit” stuff through PCOM’s website. “I’m sorry, it’s just been a really long day.” “That’s ok.” she beamed, handing over the slip of paper with my instructions on it. “Thank you.” I stood up and went to class feeling oddly numb for just having withdrawn. Numbers will not come easily..

Desperately Seeking Fun!!!

After all the drama that happened yesterday I decided I needed a yoga class. I got up, got dressed wrote in my my journal for a while as the sun came up, then got dressed and gathered up some recylcing that needing to be taken out. I tossed it all and set out for class. Five minutes into my walk I realized something was missing. Keys. Where are my keys and OMG are they in the recylcing bin?! Did I toss them along with the bags I threw in?! I ran home and yes, scrambled to get through the meager contents on the recyling bin to find that no, my keys weren't there which much mean they're on the little table in my apartment. Of course this is happening while Dana is still in Portland, and I'm currently kicking myself in the teeth for not getting copies made for Jeff. Despite the time difference, I text Dana to get the number of our maintenence guy. She answered right away having been woken up by one of the dogs that belongs to the friend she was staying with. I quickly called him and sat by the stairs of my apartment waiting for just over an hour until he let me in. Yup. Sure enough, the keys were on the table. Of course yoga didn't happen. What did happen though was that Jeff came over and we went to Ipsento for Nutella mochas and breakfast. (Ok, I got the mocha, Jeff got coffee:)) We talked a while and headed over to the Garfield Conservatory where we lost our minds in the gorgeousness that this place is. I've been wanting to come here for quite sometime and never made the time to do it.

It rained a good bit while we were there. We sat on a bench and talked until it slacked up and decided to head to Chinatown. Yet again, another place I had been interested in going to but never making the time. We wandered around for a while. I lost my mind over some Hello Kitty things in a little gift shop of course. Dinner happened at a place whose name I can't remember but seemed popular. I got some shrimp lo mein. Pretty standard. Jeff however, branched out and got a "crispy frog" dish that had him ever so carefully consuming it because the bones weree still there. After dinner we walked around some more, weaving in and out of streets, glancing into stores and remembering to come back to visit certain restaurants. We stop at a smoothie place and each get one. They're loaded with fruit and what looks like chia seeds and God knows what else. Delicious. On our way back to the train we stop in a candy store and lose our minds. We each get an assortment of things that we couldn't pronounce and headed back to the train. I felt like I could stay awake forever. It was so much fun doing whatever we wanted without an agenda. I didn't want the day to end. Back to reality tomorrow...

Academic Chaos Part One...

The fact that there are multiple parts to this madness is completely ridiculous. However, it’s the reality and this whole thing has made me question “is this even worth it?” Of course it is. The pain of not pursuing school is far worse than the drama that has ensued over the past month. Harold Washington has my application and high school transcripts on file which is excellent news. I’m told that I need to go to Orientation and take the placement test. Orientation is no big deal but the placement test?! No thank you. Standardized tests have never been a strong point for me. Scary images of my SAT scores dance around my mind. I fight them off with a cookie. Registration ends Aug 20 which is when classes start. I find that the soonest I can get in to Orientation is Aug 11. This leaves no time for a placement test. I email an advisor that a co-worker recommended and in nearly all caps he says GO NOW! Do NOT wait til the 11th! Ummm.. I was under the impression that I needed to make an appointment. I go the school on Monday and talk to administration. They tell me that there is an orientation at 2pm and to just walk in. This means missing my math class at PCOM which is detrimental to my learning the material. I leave and take a walk, stopping at Starbucks for tea. I mull all this over and decide to go to the orientation. I take my homework to PCOM and drop it in my teacher’s mailbox. I later see that I forgot to include part of the assignment. “A” for effort right?” I’m scared that I may need to bring along proof of residence being I don‘t have an IL drivers license. I go back to Harold Washington and ask a man at an information desk. He tells me that I first need an appointment to go to orientation. I nearly rip is his face off. Why does everyone have a different story?! I try to keep composed as I told him what the woman said this morning. He instructs me to get back in the line at administration to be sure. When I’m back in line I’m thinking I won’t even have time to go home if I’m supposed to. Turns out I don’t need proof of residence to attend and yes I can just walk in. Orientation only takes an hour. A few days later I have to miss my cranio sacral class to take the placement exam. I go over the study material as best as I can while trying to learn this new math material from the Monday I missed. Jeff reminds me to just be where I am. I want to believe that I can do that. Part of me likes that idea but the part of me that is anxiety ridden and petrified of judgment is taking over. The night before the test, I can’t sleep. Dana is out of town and the cats are pawing at my door all night. My mind is racing and shows no sign of stopping. I’m supposed to meet up with Jeff for lunch after the test as he has to work the rest of the day. I have no idea how long it’s going to take. I get to the testing room early with about five other people. I watch as one of the proctors snaps at the girl in front of me for trying to enter the room. Apparently we all have to play a game of “20 Questions” before entering. Before coming to the school I checked to make sure the graphing calculator that Jeff is letting me borrow is ok to use on the test. The website said yes. The man standing in front of me, handing me paperwork says no and hands me a basic calculator to use. Again, with the miscommunication!! We’re given strict instructions to turn off our cell phones, use the restroom now as we won’t be able to once we start the test, and if we need anything we’re to raise our hand and wait for someone to come. I am shown to a computer and am told how to get started. The math section is first. Of course it is. The first few problems are easy. The test gets harder and harder with each correct answer, measuring the extent of your knowledge. I keep going, scribbling on my scratch paper, solving equation after equation. I notice after a while that this is taking a long time and the problems aren’t progressively getting harder. It’s all about the same and to me, it feels challenging. Decimals, word problems, basic geometry and algebra show up. I feel ridiculous for not remembering how to approach some of the problems. “Do your best. Do your best. Do your best.” I repeat to myself. Nothing is calming down the anxiety that I’m going to be stuck at an 8th grade math level forever. That being said, who cares? I don’t want to be a mathematician. English is my thing. Not soon enough am I progressing on to the English section. It’s mostly reading comprehension with a little bit of vocabulary. I feel my eyes are going to start bleeding once I’m two essays in. There are so many dull, dry, words that I have to remember so I can answer questions about them. Essay after article after essay pass and I keep hoping that the next one will be the last one as I have to write my own essay after this Q and A extravaganza. I shift around in my seat. I stare at the clock. I’ve already been here over two hours! I take my glass off put my face in my hands trying to slowly take in deep breaths. I remind myself that this won’t last forever. I get back to it and turns out, the essay I’m on is the last one. Thank God. The computer magically lets the proctors (there are five of them) know I’m finished. A woman brings over an essay I am to analyze and paper to write on then tells me to write an essay answering one of two questions on another sheet of paper she hands me. Ok. I outline, brainstorm and do a quick rough draft before writing the actual essay. All of this reminds me of being in fifth grade and learning all of this. My teacher, Mrs. Fowler told me that I need to elaborate more when I’m answering questions and writing essays. I never forgot that. I write and write. My handwriting is big as it sometimes gets when I’m trying to write legibly. I was told that if I needed more paper, just raise my hand. I had one paragraph left to go and not enough room. I raised my hand. “Yes?” a tall skinny effeminate guy traipses over to me. “I need more paper please.” I say softly. He looks me over then glances at what I’ve written. “I hope you’re finishing up soon.” “I am.” I firmly state thinking “just get the damn paper asshole!” “Ok. Because this is an essay, not a dissertation.” “I know.” I say in my most saccharine southern tone. He delivers the paper and I finish before racing out of that Godforsaken room and out into the bright sunshine. It feels so good to move my limbs, to take big deep breaths… I don’t lose it until Jeff and I exit Intelligentsia shortly after I pop in to find him. I told him what the proctor said to me. That statement was the snapping point. The tears came despite my best effort at keeping them in. Jeff pulled me into him hugging me tightly telling me how proud he was of me for even doing it. We’re against one of the walls of the Cultural Center. I’m so angry. I’m angry at PCOM for delivering their incorrect information. Angry at my younger self for not learning how to take these stupid exams, and angry at that idiot and his comment. When I’m all cried out, we go get sushi. I feel like my brain won’t hold anything else. I see Jeff’s face and I’m trying to make myself be present, reminding myself that it’s all over but I can’t seem to. We leave lunch and he heads to work. I…have to get some math tutoring. Oh yes. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse in the sense of school work, I have no idea how to do this week’s homework being I missed class and all. Phranque, one of my teachers from last term offered to help. I met him at Argo Tea down the street from Intelligentsia. “Whatcha got?” he asks after I sit down with my tea and fill him in about my morning. I pull out my book and show him the chapter we’re working on. “I know how to solve the equations but I don’t know how to set them up.” I explain. Word problems have never been a strong point. Phranque quietly looks over the examples. I stare out the window until his voice grabs my attention. “Ok. Easy enough. Read number one out loud.” I glance at the book as he holds it up for me to read the tiny print, then back at him. I take in a deep breath and read the first sentence. Tears are threatening. I attempt the first word of the second sentence and stop. “Are you going to cry?” he asks. I nod and the tears come again. “I’m so tired.” I whisper. He’s expressionless and motionless, still holding the book. “Ok, let’s look at it this way…” he begins. Two and a half hours later, he’s late for another tutoring session he’s doing with some students on acupuncture points and I am heading to Wicker Park, still a little uneasy about this homework. I stop into Mojo Spa in Wicker Park. I want a treat for making it through this hideous day. I love this little place. The woman who owns it hand makes all of her soaps, scrubs and lotions. I pick out a coconut one and leave. I notice the clouds are getting dark. I know I should take the bus as I don’t have an umbrella and my feet are starting to hurt but it feels so good to be outside. More often than not I find that the sky only threatens to open up, rarely following through. My phone rings and it’s Dana. We chat for a few minutes before she has to go meet up with a friend. I walk down Damen and over to Augusta because it’s prettier and quieter than Chicago Ave. Thunder claps overhead and I pick up my pace. I can see Western which means I’m close as fat rain drops start to fall pelting my head and shoulders. At first it’s just a few raindrops, but as I cross Western an ocean of rain dumps onto my exposed body. By the time I make it home I soaked all the way through to my undies. I hate today.

Bait and Switch...

My second term at PCOM is coming to a close. I am grateful for the upcoming break from classes. I have already registered for fall classes, I’m passing my algebra class and have received such kind remarks on my ability to do massage that it almost brings tears to my eyes. Everything has been smooth sailing. Or so I thought. I overheard some girls in my math class talking about how even when we finish the associates of applied science here at PCOM we will still need to go to a community college or something to “get the rest of the credits” so entry into the masters program will be admitted. This was not my understanding upon applying to PCOM. I wouldn’t be here if that were the case. I was told that the associates would get me into the masters program. I was also told that the program would transfer to other acupuncture schools. This is also partially untrue. Some schools take it but most want an associates degree at least from an institution that is recognized by the U.S. Secretary of Education. Now what? Did I just “waste” 6 months here doing something that isn’t going to get me to where I’m trying to get to? Being a massage therapist isn’t something I want to pursue full time. I want the knowledge and yes I’ve enjoyed myself very much. I do love the school, the teachers and the people that go there but I’m not here to make friends, not here for my health (well…) and I’m certainly not trying to waste any time. I’m not getting any younger or any richer by being in school. I want to be an acupuncturist…yesterday! I talked to a woman in administration about this after that class. It’s true. PCOM doesn’t accept it’s own AAS program. Something about accreditation…but again, this was the deal. I was told they could offer this program and I could get into the masters program with it. It doesn’t make any sense as to why they won’t take it. “You can get your massage certificate.” The administrator told me. “that way you can work and then go to Harold Washington to get the rest of the credits.” “I’m already employed!” I snapped. “I was told one thing when I started and you’re telling me I’m pretty much back where I started! I’m angry no one bothered to mention this!” She glosses over my snippiness and says that she’ll help me get the classes I need to get into the masters program. I don’t believe anything. For the next week I research schools across the western part of the U.S. trying to find a masters program that will take the AAS. There are two that I’ve found. One in CA and one in CO. I’m not sure I want to stay though and finish. I certainly don’t want to sink anymore money into this if it’s not going to go anywhere. After much hemming and hawing I decide to see if Harold Washington has my application and transcripts on hand being I applied there this time last year before Ruth rang me up to say that I could enroll in the AAS at PCOM. Whew. They have everything. I just need to attend orientation and take a placement test. I also need to switch over my financial aid stuff. One tiny detail though. Classes start in August, not September like PCOM. I still want to finish my term at PCOM before withdrawing. I’m going to have to rush this Harold Washington business. Not to mention I’m still doing my job and commuting 3 hours a day. I’d also like to see Jeff and get some kind of sleep. I feel a giant shitstorm brewing…

Craniosacraltheraputicawesomeness…

Every week I count down to Fridays. Not only because I get to spend most of the day with Jeff but because my day starts with craniosacral therapy class at 9am. I don’t work on Fridays, so after a long week, I get to come into class and sink into the fascinating lectures my teacher, Rich delivers to us. Not only do we get to practice the techniques he shows us, but we receive the treatment as well from each other. It’s the most gentle, relaxing form of massage therapy I’ve ever experienced. It’s designed to help with a host of issues such as scoliosis, TMJ, chronic fatigue syndrome, emotional disorders…the list is endless. Rich practices in Evanston, not far from where I work. After a few weeks of class, I made an appointment to see him. Since that first appointment I’ve been going every Tuesday. I am still looking for something to calm down my incessant anxiety and chronic PMS. Sure, acupuncture has helped a lot and I’m grateful for that, but being that CST deals with the release of emotions, I thought I’d give that a try. Going into this, I had no idea what an emotional release would look like. For me, I’ve discovered it’s a whole lot of laughing. It’s spontaneous and I have no control over it. I don’t even know what triggers it half the time. Mostly, the laughter turns into tears. When I do experience a memory of some sort, I see it playing on a screen in my mind. I’ve seen myself as a child at church, playing the handbells. I’ve seen myself as a first grader singing “My Country Tis of Thee” with my class, and I’ve seen an image of my mother, one that I can only imagine I had as a very very young child. It’s brief, and just her face. She’s beaming and moving toward me as if she’s going to pick me up. She’s wearing something yellow and her hair is styled, feathered back off her face. Some unpleasant things have also happened as a result of doing this to each other in class. I say unpleasant but it’s neither or good or bad, just…maybe uncomfortable is the better word for it. Anyway. One of my favorite classmates worked on me and as I felt her hands envelope parts of my torso I began to relax. Then the memory flared up. It’s one that shall remain nameless but causes such extreme guilt and shame that my eyes flew open as a result. Slowly, I began to relax again, closing my eyes, then the memory came up again. This time I let it. I tried to breathe deeper and remind myself that I am 30, I am in Chicago, this is a classroom. It isn’t Atlanta. The images wouldn’t go away. The idea of vomiting came to my mind. I wanted to physically release whatever this was. I kept breathing though. My classmate had no idea anything was going on in my head. My body made no indications that such hideousness was happening. In fact, she felt my fascia releasing, my muscles letting go of tension and was excited about it. When she was done I practically slid off the table. I found myself forcing a smile, and trying to figure out how I was going to be able to give her a treatment. I knew all the motions but wasn’t present enough to really feel what her body was doing. I did it anyway, hoping I wasn’t negatively affecting her. I didn’t seem to be. Class ended and when I stepped outside my eyes were assaulted by bright sunshine and my ears felt like bleeding from all the noise of lunchtime in the Loop. I was on my way to meet Jeff. At his place I still felt out of it. We were going to see a movie but all I wanted to do was stare at a wall and or cry. Going outside seemed like the worst idea ever. By the next day I was still feeling like this. I emailed Rich and he wrote me back saying I had a partial release and he’d work the rest of it out on Tuesday. By the end of the our session on Tuesday, I was back to normal. There was a lot of crying, and a lot of shaking of my limbs but the storm passed and since then, the feelings and memories that came up that day haven’t returned. For me the most challenging part of this work is staying present. Not only when I’m being worked on but when I am working on other people. I am finding that I have a tendency to take on other people’s stuff. I absorb their energy and find that little aches or pains they have manifest in my own body. I have done this my whole life. Mostly without realizing it. I believe this is why I slept more during the beginning of my career as a stylist than I have ever slept in my life. I had no idea where my client ended and I began. Multiply that by 10 ( the approximate amount of clients I would see in a day) then multiply it again by 5 (the amount of days I worked each week) and it’s no wonder I developed a compulsive eating disorder and a lil bit of narcolepsy. Sometimes during my sessions with Rich he would feel more of my muscles releasing than I would. Sometimes I’d find myself laughing or crying and having no idea why. At other times I’d have no idea what I was feeling because I’d be talking so much to him. One time Rob came up. I was practically waiting for that knowing I have that experience trapped inside of me somewhere. It took weeks but he came up only once. During that session, Rich had a hand right beneath my lowest ribs and another one on my back. (underneath me being I am always face up on the massage table.) His hands were there but I felt a pulling on my chest. It was like having tiny little strings that extended from my shoulders to my heart. These strings were pulling my shoulders inward and tightening around my heart. I observed that for a while then a picture played across my mind. It’s Rob and in me in his parent’s back yard. He’s telling met that he likes being outside with me. I am laughing then the scene changes and it’s April 20th. He’s wearing a light blue t-shirt. He’s about to leave and I’m angry that he’s in such a rush but I‘m trying not to show it. He tells me he had fun cooking with me the night before and that he’ll have to make key lime pie for me. He says “I love you.” I see myself look at him, knowing I should, and I return the “I love you.” The scene changes again and I’m in the Jeep with him. This is most confusing as this part didn’t actually happen. I am behind him in the passengers seat. I know that we’re in the grass and not on the road. The Jeep is still upright and all I am focusing on is the blue of his sleeve on his right arm. Everything feels calm even though I know it’s not quite right. The images stop there. Rich dialogues me through all of this, asking me to describe what’s happening not only because of what he’s feeling but my torso is shaking. I see this part that holds this entire experience of my life as a creamy marble. It’s not as big as it used to be and it lives in my chest. I am surprised as to how clearly I “see” this little part. He’s asked me to put it away for now as I need to go about my day. I see a small version of myself (a very young version) placing the marble on a shelf. She’s fixated on it. When I tell this to Rich he again, talks me through walking away from it knowing I can come back at anytime. Since that session those images have not come back to my mind. It’s not that I believe they’ve disappeared, it’s just that I seem to have found a new way of letting them be. I haven’t had anymore releases in class which I’m kind of grateful for. I have a hard enough time allowing myself to let it happen when it’s just Rich and me. I’m not used to letting my emotions out. I’m not used to experiencing them. I am however quite adept at masking them, at pushing them away and pretending they don’t exist. When doing bodywork on people this can’t happen. I have to deal with my own stuff as it comes up so if and when a client is triggered, I don’t get triggered too. I actually have to learn what it’s like to inhabit my body, allow myself to get curious as to what’s going on. I have to remain present and take each moment as it comes. This is one of the hardest lessons I’ve had to learn yet. I still have no idea how to let go and just be. This class though, one Friday at a time is getting me just a little bit closer to that wonderful space. That space where I can just be exactly who I am and know that all is well.

Algebra...

“Are you sure that’s a negative two?” my roommate Dana asked, observing my pencil scrawling numbers, x’s and y’s across a line on some graph paper. “Um…” I trail off, my pencil paused. “Of course if I’m asking then…” Dana laughed. “So it’s positive two?” I giggle to keep from crying. We’re at Atomix, a coffee shop near our place. It’s Friday morning and I’ve just finished with a rather challenging yoga class, moving on to a take home quiz before meeting up with Jeff later. “Yes. Do you know why?” “I had to move it over to the other side of the equal sign?” “Yes. You know this stuff, you just get a little careless with your signs. OK. Keep going.” My eyes fix on the page, the numbers, and the graphs. They swirl around me. I feel lost. For the first time probably since Rob died I have the feeling of wishing the Earth would simply stop rotating for a minute and let me breathe, let me catch up. Everything feels like it’s moving so quickly. School started up shortly after Jeff and I got back from San Francisco. My classes, Technical Math (aka, algebra II, aka my personal hell), Circulatory/Swedish massage and Craniosacral Therapy are all over the place in terms of the times of the day/week they occur. Last term all my classes were neatly situated in three consecutive evenings. This time, things aren’t so streamlined. “I’m stuck.” I sigh to Dana. She glances at my work and points out my mistake, explaining what to do next. “Does that make sense?” I nod and make the correction. Dana has offered to help tutor me through this math class. I have no idea what I’d do without her. It’s horrifying to me to have to go through this again. I did fairly well in both Algebra I and II in high school but my teacher was the best math teacher in the history of the world. That’s not to say my current teacher isn’t good, he just moves at the speed of light and the class is three hours long. Every. Monday. Plus, I’m 30, not 17. It’s been a while and I care even less about solving for your stupid “y”. My coffee is now cold as we wrap things up, my homework finally completed. Tears flood my eyes as I put away my books and exhale. “No, no, no!” Dana exclaims upon witnessing this. “You’re ok! Seriously, you’re getting it. I just think you need to spend more time working out the problems again. Make sure you keep getting the right answers. You’re going to be fine.” she assures me. I nod. I believe her. Even if I fail, I will be fine. I just feel so inadequate and incompetent. I have felt this way about anything mathematical since I was six years old. Somehow taking this class now feels like twenty four years of anxiety, anger, frustration, and tears all crashing down around me. It’s a feeling of having to deal with all those emotions finally and not just solve for “x”, or “y”, or whatever… and move on. In the past, I’ve simply wanted the formula. Tell me what I have to do when the directions ask for certain things so I can get this over with as soon as humanly possible pleaseandthankyou. Now, I want to understand the why’s of everything so I can stop my careless mistakes…or simply spot them faster. I’m hoping to do better.

(at my parent's house Memorial weekend...studying) My other two classes, are a glorious reprieve from algebra. In circulatory/Swedish massage I learn by practicing on my classmates and vice versa. It’s lovely to end a day of work in a class where we’re massaged for an hour or so. Then, the next morning I’m up and running back to school again to take Craniosacral therapy. This is by far my most favorite class. I can’t wait to take the more advanced class later on. This form of massage is extremely gentle, helping to alleviate all sorts of conditions from migraines, to emotional disorders. I hang off my teacher’s every word when he tells us stories of patients he’s encountered and things he’s learned by performing this service. I’m doing my best to take all of this one day at time and to enjoy it as much as I can, even the math class. There’s a reason why I’m in the current space of learning. If it were easy, it wouldn’t be worth it right?

Four Years...

“Do you still get sad on the anniversary of your mom’s death?” I asked Kat as she drove me to my parent’s house on the weekend of Easter Sunday. I had arrived early that morning and we had spent the day together catching up, shopping and drinking coffee. “Not as much. I mean, it happened twenty three years ago.” I nod and watch as we drive passed the exit that could be taken to get to the cemetery that Rob is buried in. Kat’s mom died of breast cancer when she and her sister were very young. Kat and I haven’t really talked much about it. She and I go back and forth about the experience of grief. She states what’s been in my mind the past few weeks. “It gets to a point where you’re just happy to have had him in your life.” Yes. Four years later I have finally arrived at a point where I feel pure joy for having met Rob and allowing him into a place where no one was allowed before. He laid the ground work for me, showing me what it is to live as authentically as I possibly can. I didn’t understand what the point of continuing this work was if he wasn’t going to be here with me. Looking back, I don’t think it was necessarily meant for “us” per say. I was to figure it out once he extracted that little part I had squirreled away a long time ago and shone some light on it. He held it, polished it, and loved it until he died. Since then it’s been up to me to do the same. Jeff’s alarm goes off at 4:30am on April 20th. In just a few short hours we’ll be in San Francisco. Slowly, we get up and he takes a shower while I turn on his computer. Quickly I post my “I love you” messages on Rob’s mom’s and sister’s facebook pages. His middle sister, Laura writes me back instantly saying she’s thinking about me. A flash of memory shoots into my mind. She and I are in the back seat of my cousin’s truck. Her older sister Kate, is sitting in the passenger side, and my cousin is driving. The sun is rising and we’re on our way to South Carolina to move Rob’s things out of his apartment. Laura is holding my hand. I’m crying and she’s quietly saying to me “I’ll take care of you now.” I see this as it’s happening all over again and I cry. The tears come hard and fast but stop as quickly as they started. I leave Jeff’s desk and get dressed. The weather in San Francisco is stunning. Bright sunshine, temperatures in the seventies. I’m thinking the clothing I packed may be too much if this is how the rest of the weekend will be. Our flight was lovely and we found our way into the city fairly quickly. We stopped at a tiny Japanese place for lunch before checking into our hotel. Within minutes we were fast asleep, taking a short nap before heading back out. I wanted a soy caramel latte. I drink three a year. One on Rob’s birthday, one on the day we met and one on April 20. We decide to go to Philz Coffee which is down the street a little ways from our hotel. They don’t do espresso drinks so the kind barista made me a coffee drink that she thought might resemble a caramel soy latte. It was delicious but was most definitely a café au lait. Sitting across from Jeff with each of our coffees I mentally decided that maybe this latte thing wasn’t going to happen this year. I didn’t need anymore caffeine but was still wanting the latte even after finishing my coffee. We weren’t sure where to go. After Jeff asks if I want to keep looking I shrug explaining something decaf would work if we found a place. “I was thinking, you know how when you take communion the wine or grape juice represents Jesus’ blood and the bread is his body?” Jeff nods. “I never really paid a whole lot of attention to that or really thought about the symbolism but I do now. I feel very determined to drink my three caramel lattes a year. I started drinking them a lot right after Rob died in attempts to feel closer to him somehow but that had to stop. I don’t like drinking all that soy.” I smile.

He nods again and we’re quiet for a little bit, then deciding to get dinner. He finds a lovely little Mexican place and we lose our minds filling up on guacamole, chips, and salsa. Jeff ordered a decadent lamb dish and I had quesadillas. It felt so good to sit across from him, to stare into his pretty eyes, hear the sound of his voice mixed with my own as we talked, told stories and laughed. After dinner we found a coffee shop that had caramel. I ordered a decaf caramel soy latte and Jeff got a decaf mocha. We walked around Market street, meandering into Westfield Mall. After the sun went down we stopped by the Redwood Room. It’s a gorgeous bar that I went to years ago on one of my weekend jaunts to San Francisco. We sat next to each other on a small high backed couch sipping cocktails and continue our conversations. Once we’re back out in the chilly night air I felt I could stay out all night. I’m so utterly thrilled to be wandering around under the clear sky, my hand in Jeff’s our feet striking the pavement of my favorite city. We make our way to Union Square and hitch a ride on a cable car. We take it to Fisherman’s Warf and continue our indirect exploration, stopping at Ghiridelli for ice cream and hot chocolate. The cable car takes us back to the street we’re staying on eventually and we promptly pass out. Four years ago, I was sitting in my brother’s childhood room on a bed with my mom next to me. I was talking so fast, saying so much, that I can’t possibly even try to retrieve those words. Breathing felt hard, labored, like something was sitting on my chest. I didn’t know how I was ever going to get to sleep but it found me eventually. Tonight, I am laying next to my second chance. My breathing is easy, and calm. I know now… have learned, to never take the feeling of his hand in mine for, or the sound of his voice or beating of his heart for granted.

Hiatus...

Sooo… it’s been a while. I apologize. I freaked out when school started. Blogging seemed like one more thing I had to keep up with while simultaneously trying to rearrange my schedule, learn to study…really study… plus work, Jeff, working out, life, etc…I thought that if I couldn’t write regularly, I shouldn’t write at all. I have a lil problem with “black and white” thinking. I forget there are 8,000 shades of gray in between. My shades of gray may look like writing regularly again, or periodically. Either way I guess the point is to simply write. Right?
Currently I’m on spring break. The school’s terms run in trimesters so every 14 weeks, we’re off for 3 or 4 weeks. My first and so far only, term went very well. I fell in love with having a very regular, regimented schedule. I got up and went to bed at the same time every day. This is something I haven’t done since I was in school for hair. I also fell in love with the material I was learning, my teachers and classmates. I took 3 classes that were 3 hours each in the evening on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. I reduced my work hours from 40 to 32 to accommodate this without losing my mind.
Monday night was Chinese Medical Theory, Tuesday was Stress Management and Wednesday was Anatomy. Very quickly I began to develop an appreciation not only for my own body but for other bodies with their different shapes and sizes. We are so perfectly put together that it blows my mind. Our bodies do so much for us without our needing to do a single thing. Palpating each other’s muscles and bones in Anatomy brought awareness like I have never known to each and every movement that we make.
Once I locked down my schedule and routine I noticed I was seeing more of Jeff now than I was before school started. Time between work and class was first spent at Intelligentsia but it gets a lil rowdy in there so I moved my study/stare at/talk to Jeff sessions over to the Chicago Cultural Center. It’s just a couple of doors down from Intelli. There are art exhibits, musical performances and a giant room where people can hang out, study, read or relax. It’s a lovely escape from the chaos of downtown Chicago. No matter what though, Friday’s are our nights for just us. I am off from work and school and Jeff’s work day wraps up early leaving time for us to do something, or absolutely nothing. His presence kept me sane during the excruciating process of studying for midterms and finals. I don’t test well. I have such stupid amounts of anxiety over tests that I tend to get squirrelly in the weeks leading up to the exam. I eat my way through studying, and feel quite snippy with people. During the test I freeze, staring at sections of questions knowing that I know the answers but they won’t make their way to my pen and to the paper.
Despite all this, I managed to make good grades and feel ecstatic that I juggled everything and still came out ok. I ran an half marathon, entered my second erotic fiction contest benefiting Chicago Women’s Health Center, kept up with my journal and began a regular yoga practice while still hitting the gym 3-4 days a week. I also got new glasses and cut all my hair off. Somehow cutting my hair short helps me to feel more like “myself” again.

A classmate told me about a style of yoga called “Forrest Yoga”. A woman named Ana Forrest developed this kind of practice. She wrote a book about it titled “Fierce Medicine”. The poses are held for longer amounts of time than in other practices allowing for the emotions trapped in our muscles to be released. Turns out the only studio that offers this kind of yoga is… within walking distance of my apartment. Of course I signed up immediately.
Never have I ever felt so strong, so physically capable, in my life. Never have I ever cried during a yoga class. Never have I ever felt surges of energy coursing through my body and never have I ever felt such intense amounts of anger, grief, and giddiness (not at the same time!) simply by holding a pose. Obviously they aren’t all just holding a simple pose. A lot of the time I’m twisted into something that I had no idea was possible and in holding that pose, standing in that awkward place, the feelings come to the surface. Just when I think I can’t hold it anymore, when I think I’m going to fall out of it because my thighs or arms are shaking so hard, I remind myself that I am much stronger than I believed to be true. Showing up to these classes, being enveloped in the love and kindness the teachers and other students so readily give has helped to unwind the tapes that play over and over in my head telling me negative, self-deprecating things that no longer serve me.

Very carefully I am learning to loosen the tight grip I maintain on myself. I’m questioning everything I’ve ever believed…about myself, my relationships with people, and what it actually means to be happy. Slowly, so very slowly I feel a kind of peace coming over me in the learning process that is accepting my body for what it is today.
Jeff and I are headed to San Francisco on April 20th. Rob will have been gone 4 years on that day. The sadness of that loss is quieting down and I’m ecstatic to be taking a much needed trip with Jeff. More on that later though. I need to pack!