This story's ended.

sometimes its not the one you wanted but the one that was meant to happen.

Thanks for reading.

Chinese New Year

Happy Chinese New Year!

It's the year of the dragon- and as a dragon- I had to at mark the occasion. I decided to try a kung pau chicken recipe that I found here. Now, deep in the heart of the south- I'm afraid I couldn't get all the supplies so I had to make do without most of the more exotic elements.I tried a few local Asian Markets, Whole Foods, etc- and struck out. Oh well, it was a delicious experiment that I tried to make a little healthier but adding bell peppers and cooking with rice. It was very, very, very spicy even without the Sichaun Peppers. And by the way- don't try to sub those out with black peppercorns- it doesn't really work....it'll make a large black sludge which is not appetizing...luckily it was easy enough to toss out and restart the sauce mix.

By the way-

Dork means whale penis.

Thought you should know.

A Realization of Sorts

Pressure: (V) To force (someone) towards a particular end; influence

               (N) The exertion of force by one's body on the surface of another

Sometimes you can see it on someone's face. Perhaps in the way they are behaving or the emptiness that rings in their speech.

You can tell when someone's mind is under pressure- warped and twisted, bent and breaking. The signs are not always clear but they can feel it. That tightening in the chest, the hollowed out feeling whenever they breath. Something pressing down on them so hard they could snap under it if they just gave it to the all bearing weight of it all. 

People lose loved ones in this life. Money problems are rampant in today's society. Careers are put on hold in favor of jobs that will actually pay the bills. We are always at one point in another in our life under pressure. 

So, why do we in turn place pressure on others in our lives? 

As a guilty party, I can only say it is from sort of inner selfishness- some corrupted idea that you know everything when you will in fact admit you know nothing. A desperate attempt to help alleviate the pressure they are suffering under which in all events usually ends up (unless you a saint or guru of some kind) in only furthering pressuring the person you had meant to help. 

Parents do it. Friends do it. Lovers do it.

We all do it.

I deal in ultimatums. Black and whites. Good and evil  Right and wrong.

Over the past year and a half, I've gained friends, lost friends, and lived under the same roof as my family as an adult. I stared down my nose at my parent's mistakes- glaringly obvious to me while ignoring the things that they have given up or put aside so that I could sit there with a college education and wonder disparagingly what I am doing with my life. I sat quietly and waited for a friend to realize I had made a simple slip of the tongue error- was guilt wracked over it and unable to voice anything more than utter horror and remorse. No one answered my pleas for forgiveness. I stood at a job I literally hated and shook my head as people told me how good I was at it and how interesting it must be. 

And I decided one day- enough was enough. I packed my things, moved back to the city I wanted to be in. And that was that.

Good vs. Bad. Right vs. Wrong. Brave vs. Scared

I am proud of this decision. I still stand by it being one of the best I made but as the days slip by. I sometimes feel like my return set in motion things beyond my control. The idealistic life that I had left behind obviously had continued in my absence and yet months after my return- things began to advance, deteriorate, and shift. And as I stood and watched it happen, I dealt with it the only way I could.

That's right- either this or that. Too proud maybe. But more unsure and in need of a black or white, cookie cut answer. Well, that's what I thought I needed from the various unknown shifts in my life. 

What I really needed was to trust in myself and in those around me. 

And as much as I want to fix things- you can't. You can't fix what's not broken and you can't fix things that are in flux. You have to just stand back and wait. 

And yes, I'm highly aware that even right now, as I type this- if it were to happen again, I'd be struggling with myself not to rush in and make it right. That's me- a bulldozing fixer who usually only breaks things in the attempt to heal. (Gives me a whole new respect for the bull in the china shop- maybe he just wanted to get his mother a nice tea set.)

(Fine- it was an idiotic joke but comeon)

And as much as I would like to pick up the phone, drive over to their house, and in other ways seriously badger the people who I miss most and who have pushed me away for whatever reasons- I have to understand that they are under pressure. My strong arm attempts to win them back are only going to end up further alienating them. I have over the course of the past few months tried to restrain myself from trying to fix, understand, or label anything in my life.

Some days I can wake up and enjoy the day for what it is- go to work, feel accomplished, come home and spend quality time with friends. Other days i walk around in a certain fog- under my own pressure, weighted down by memories, hopes, and their following shadows- doubts. 

So, I shake my head, mumble some words under my breath to myself (never very nice words, I'm afraid)  and try to get on with whatever I was doing.

It all comes back to pressure.

I'm lucky enough to belong to a group who sits back and lets me deal with it my own way-and time will help me learn how to deal with my pressure accordingly. As I sometimes repeat to myself, "I'm healthy, finacially secure, surrounded by friends and family who love me for who I am, and have a terrific head of hair."

Okay- no, I don't say that last part. I just wanted to see how you would respond. Hopefully you though it was witty and not some terribly obvious ploy to pat myself on the back. Now, if I wanted to go into good features-

Kidding.

But I get to deal with the guilt and unhappiness that comes from not alleviating the pressure of those I care about most but only adding to it. And as much as I would like to sit down, wrap my arms around them and tell them how truly sorry I am for everything that I've done through accident or self ignorance- I could only hope they would realize that in all my attempts, all my failures and successes- I've only wanted to help alleviate their burden.

Never add to it. 

 

Taking a Tumble

You lucky ducks-(Or people who somehow stumbled upon this by accident and are like- this is boring- this isn't porn/facebook)- two updates in one night.

Hanging rather pertinaciously from the aisle railing, Marcy took a quick second to document what just happened.

A rather quick second considering her current predicament,

"Jesus Marcy!"

Ah, well, the one good thing about the awkward high pitch yelp she had just made- it had caught the attention of her partner-in-crime. She grimaced up into the face of her clearly shocked, clearly wigged out friend of three years- Gerald.

"Allen!" His face disappeared for a brief, heart thumping moment, although his hands snaked over the edge of the old railing and grasped her wrists in a clearly panicked- but strong grip. "Get over here!"

"What's going on over- Marcy!"

Oh great- here came Elizabeth.

"Did she fall over the side? Marcy, how did you- Allen-get over here now!"

Elizabeth's high pitched alto was coming from somewhere underneath her feet and she was continuing shouting as her husband's face appeared over the railing, his hands grasping her left hand while Gerald switched his hands to her right. Both began to pull and the sensation of her arm's being torn off was nothing compared to the empty air her feet were currently kicking in futile desperate attempts to gain a footing.

Elizabeth continued to voice her obvious horror- with "Oh my god" and "Don't Drop Her" and "How the Hell-" with the occasional "Marcy" thrown in with unmasked frustration.

It wasn't as if this thing was a common occurrence. Marcy Jenkins did not go around falling off balconies.

Well.

Falling off things maybe- but not balconies.

Her foot landed on the gilded edge of the balcony bottom and she felt one last tug before she was pulled over the rounded gold brass and into Row E Seat 14.

And Gerald's lap.

Allen was already leaning back over the railing- gesturing at Elizabeth and shouting words of general reassurance. From the increasing shrillness of Elizabeth's voice, she was either on her way up the stairs or was getting more agiated.

Both- she decided, as Gerald nudged her off him and let her sink into the velvet back seat. He scooted over to the railing, looked over, and then looked back at her.

Elizabeth descended in a flurry of arms, blonde curls, and flapping fabric as she enveloped Marcy in a tight hug- which only made her arms hurt more before she pulled back and slapped her across the shoulder as hard as she could manage.

Which hurt considering Elizabeth had been getting active in marital art training over the past year.

"What the hell happened, Miss Monroe?"

She swung her gaze, still slightly fuzzy and shimmering around the edges to a very peeved looking older man who was staring down at her from Row F- arms cross and brows furrowed.

"Well I...actually, god, I just."

"Allen, go down to the box office and let Miss Herring know we are in need of a medical kit and some water. Let her know that Miss Monroe had a slight trauma and see to it that she comes up and checks the security of the hardware."

Allen nodded and pushed away form the railing, just as the words sank in Marcy's still racing and yet sluggish brain.

"But I'm fine, Alex."

"Marcy- just shut up."

She fixed her gaze on Gerald who was shaking his head in a mirrored expression of Elizabeth's obvious disapproval. Allen disappeared from sight, leaving her at the mercy of two very taciturn and unyielding men, and a very traumatized dental hygienist.

"What happened, Miss Monroe?"

She shook her head- the blood rushing through her head was beginning to subside into a deep pulse that was echoed in the pain shooting up and down her arms. There was a dull throb in her rib cage and her right ankle hurt like a bitch.

"I tripped."

"You tripped. I see."

He obviously didn't, Marcy concluded. He was wearing his glasses tipped down on his nose and was staring down the long nostrils straight at her. He practically was radiating barely concealed disbelief and annoyance paired with what may have passed as concern in most humans but in Alexander Hamilton was clearly disdain that she didn't manage to rid the human species of a lost cause by properly killing herself.

She gulped.

It wasn't like she had meant to trip in Row F, tumble into Row E and then spring upwards trying to prevent Gerald from seeing her head fall and managed to somehow vault herself over the brass railings of the Pompador Theatre's Presidential Box.

She had felt the impact in her chest and had reached out instinctively to grasp a hold of the object- any object- and had manged to grasp the middle railing of the polished brass railing that had recently been replaced- a subject of much debate and a reason why the Historical Society of Martinville was present at the Theatre.

Not that she really cared about the brass railing or the original chandelier or the reupholstered seats in the original crimson or the fire damage done in the back wings where an apprentice once almost burned down Georgia's oldest little theatre. 

For God's sake, it was Martinville. And who beside Alexander Hamilton, Dean of History at York Community College and the board members of his historical society really cared? Marcy saw Allen, President of said society, come quietly back in with a catatonic Ms. Herring in tow. The woman seemed to be not long for this world- who so far had only spoken the words "Please don't spill anything" and walked in a forlorn, half asleep kind of way since they had entered the building a few hours ago.

Marcy swung her eyes back to Elizabeth, who was probing what must have been a bleeding cut on Marcy's temple. Elizabeth had attended CPR training and took a few refresher first aid courses when she had been studying for her exams for dental school. She was secretary of Alexander's little club- more of a way of sharing Allen's hobby than real interest and then of course Gerald was a member.

Which left Marcy Monroe.

Who was failing History II and had needed extra credit in order to graduate.

And by the looks of things- was not going to get said extra credit.

"Really, Marcy," Gerald sighed behind her. "You're a walking disaster."

"It was an accident-"

"Just like Rome?" Elizabeth muttered.

"Well, Lizzy, Rome wasn't really her fault- no way we could have known that ledge would have given away over the lake-"

Marcy nodded emphatically, only stopping when Elizabeth yanked her head back down and pressed a makeshift bandage to her temple. Good ole, Allen- always true, always faithful-

"Although that time she fell off the loading platform at Trenton was just pitiful."

Big mouthed Allen-

"And when she fell off the altar at the wedding? Thought your mom was going to lose it."

"I didn't mean to knock the candelabra over!"

Professor Hamilton was quietly talking to Miss Herring- his eyes flickering over briefly met Marcy's long enough for her to know he was listening to everything.

"Yea, but you did." Gerald sighed. He ran his hand through his short curls and shook it back out in exasperated worry. "You fall, Marcy. That's what you do."

"Geroff Lizzy-" Marcy growled, pushing her away in furious annoyance. She straightened and brushed her sweater back down so it lay normal. Gerald's grey eyes stared at her but he stayed silent. She brushed past him towards the two older adults talking in the archway entrance of the Presidential Box. Allen went and sat by Elizabeth- their heads bowed in muted conversation. She could tell Elizabeth was shaking from nerves. She was a little surprised when Gerald's hand stopped her forward movement and she looked down to realize she was shaking as well.

It was true after all. Marcy Monroe fell. She fell off hills, she fell off ledges, porches, stairs, couches, and chairs. She toppled off beds, over cracks in the sidewalk, and over her own two feet. She tripped over socks, balls, and baby carriages. She stumbled off the side of altars, stages, and the occasional diving board. And it wasn't as if she was scared of heights- she just always managed to fall- as if her body thought it was somehow destined to be on the ground- face first.

She had been to the ER more times than she cared to admit, had so many stitches and casts that she had lost count, and picked herself up from sheer humiliation enough times to learn to laugh it off.

And sure, the time she had fallen into the lake had been scary- but it was only a twenty foot drop and it had been a deep lake. The time she had fallen through the attic door had been straight onto the plush couch she had just helped bring down and the only serious injury she had sustained was the time she tripped over the kitchen table and broke her left arm, concussed her head on the chair, sprained her ankle.

So, she was the girl who fell. Gerald had once joked it was because she thought she had wings- but he had stopped joking now. His eyes were serious as Professor Hamilton's. Marcy's eyes flickered to the balcony edge. It was a good thirty foot drop and there was nothing to cushion the fall but old cement floors covered in unraveling oriental carpet. She would have been seriously, possibly mortally injured. And her friends knew it. Professor Hamilton knew it. She wasn't quite sure if Ms. Herring knew it- but she couldn't really tell if Ms. Herring knew what year it was.

But she knew somethings the way she knew her name.

It had been an accident.

She was fine.

And she was pretty sure she was going to throw up once she got out of sight.

She passed by Professor Hamilton who barely acknowledged her as he continued to apologize to the obvious daft and unconcerned warden of the theatre and kept walking until she was almost out of sight of the group- she put her foot on the stair case which would lead her up to the ladies powder room-

And then-

"Damn it Marcy!"

Well, she mused as she stared at the dirty rug that was now pressed against her right cheek- it could have been worse. She felt the footsteps approaching from behind her, the smell of Gerald's aftershave as his hands wrapped around her torso and pulled her up from the floor-

But who the hell falls walking up the stairs?

Project 365? Or Project- Oh shit- I should update that....

I know- I know, I've barely been updating and when I have- it's been depressing prose/poetry and limericks.

(Just kidding about the limericks)

 

I've done plenty of interesting things lately- from pumpkin carving parties to concerts (underground as well as at a converted warehouse), from Downtown NYC to Atlanta suburbia, on air, boat, and by road.

Been a busy couple of weeks- and no, I won't attempt to recap it all so you are going to miss out on the hilarious story of how the Halloween party I was supposed to attend was in fact a group of um...laid back individuals....around a bonfire behind someone's parents house.... and then end up on the very packed, very sketchy dance floor of a local night club where I was torn between protecting myself from various gropes to protecting my much more covered and much cuter engaged roommate from Mr. Steroids 2008.  (Apparently the cowgirl look does it for them)

So, I forgot to write movie reviews of the some movies- The Immortals- most of which I watched through my hands, The Accidental Husband (oh Colin Firth- went from Mr. Darcy to the third wheel in a straight to DVD romantic comedy), and well- I'm sure I've watched other movies but I've forgotten. 

I took in a stray puppy- named Casper and am working on getting him back to health while his adopted parents get their house together.But really I'm completely in love with him and his one blue eyes, one hazel eye pink nose, speckled fur self. 

 Read The Hunger Games (in 3 days), the first two books from the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2 days), and finished up Dancing with Dragons. I got sucked into How I Met Your Mother, Once Upon a Time (I can't help it- I grew up on Disney), and recaps of American Horror Story/Walking Dead. If you know me, then it makes sense why I can read recaps instead of watching the show like a normal person. Scaredy-cat, scaredy-cat, scaredy-cat.

My hope is to write a little blurb or two about my Thanksgiving up north- but it may be Christmas by the time I remember to do that...

well, it's easier to be numb when the hope's gone. 

you can sink down with your pride and find it cold to hold.

but your heart has finally shut up - broken in the corner 

your brain is quiet

but the memories are flooding around you.

making you smile through the tears. 

i did this, i get to live with it.

i get to hold myself together.

but for now i'll lay here

and just wish to forget.