Sunday, November 20, 2011


Sometimes we struggle. We push and pull at each other, at the threads between us, at the ties that bind us. We strain against the fabric and look for tears to appear. And then all at once they come. Little rips that loosen the tension and we spring back, each of us gripping our edges in terror. At once grateful for the space, and panicked by the distance.

And then comes the calm.

Wordlessly we work from opposite ends of the universe. Weaving those threads together, closing the rips with respect and love. We meet somewhere in the middle in whispers, our hands working closely to tie knots in our mending, to bind together our tomorrows. We fix those tears with heartstrings, newly formed sinews that are forever unbreakable. Somewhere in our work we see our fears, anxieties, old hurts and future worries. We knit them together like an old quilt, a story of us. Before and after. Past, present and future.

And somewhere, across the roadmap we have created, hides our souls. Stitched together with hope and reckless abandon. Somehow we have become one. And we are strong.

Monday, September 19, 2011

Life is a runaway train you can't wait to jump on

I had an epiphany last night. It's funny how that works... at first it seems like it comes smashing out of the blue and hits you, but when you look back you can see the rumblings of change across the landscape.

Yesterday I lost my best friend. Or, what I thought was my best friend. It's funny how people change. That's what I get for choosing a chameleon for a partner in crime. What is more strange is how little the impact really is in the aftermath... there are those rumblings again. I guess you could say I saw it coming.

We met over psychology and students in a random college auditorium one day. We were very different then, but somehow we fell into a fast friendship that hinged on coffee and ruckus days... college projects and observations. She became close to my children, and they began to look up to her. Over the years she became like a spouse, coming to holiday dinners at the parents, planning birthday parties for my children, spending long hours at the mall, sharing teary secrets on late night drives around a small town. She was a friend that became a sister - and we shared too many things to list on this tiny little blog.

We don't fit like that anymore. I saw things that I didn't see before, watched as she became someone else, became like someone else, to please someone else. When that exploded, I ran to pick up her shattered heart and began the process of gluing those tiny little pieces back together. Tried to make her stronger, wiser. And then she did it again. And threw me under the bus for it. I felt like there was a perception of competition, a jealousy that need not exist. I did not, and would not, take what was hers. I didn't want it to begin with. Even then, we patched the holes in our little boat and marched forward a couple more years...

See, I loved her. I love her still. The girl she was. I don't know the woman she is now, that belongs as half of another... she has taken on traits of another life that is different from mine. In place of loving my children, she now complains about them. She shows up for our girls night with him as well. Instead of standing up for what she loves, she pushes it aside for the wishes of another. She creates a new life from the pieces of his, and I do not belong to it. I wish her well. It breaks my heart that she has not mastered the art of integrating both pieces of her, but I will not stand silent while she tears me down as part of a unit... only because she is not strong enough to speak for herself. So here I am, waving goodbye on the front porch alone. I will miss her.

I will miss you.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Ink on the Page

I feel like I'm lost somewhere, floating in the middle of the vastness. My feet kick at the black depths beneath me and my arms ache from treading. Moments ago I could see you, waving to me from the concrete land, a speck in my periphery that kept me grounded. Now the dusk blots you out, and offers me nothing in the way of a lighthouse.

I know I am encased in my own waters - that you did not cast me out alone, but then it does not change the loneliness that washes over me. The waves just keep coming, breaking over my shoulders and threatening to choke out my security. There is no bottom and no top, just disorienting darkness and salty traces.

Forgive me - but it is filling my lungs and drowning me - I just need to get it out.

Ink on the page.

Monday, September 5, 2011

Double Exposure Photography

I've been working hard over here, partnering up with my very talented cousin to revamp Double Exposure Photography.

I am very excited to announce our new website (we are still building our portfolios) and wanted to share it with you all!

Come on over to Double Exposure and see what we've been up to!



Thursday, August 25, 2011

Light Up the Sky

It started as a tickle in the corner of my mouth... raising the edges involuntarily. It moved across my face, carving a hollow dimple in my cheek and leaving a twinkle in the deepest green recesses of my iris. It travelled the length of my body, across my skin and by the time I got to you - it radiated from the inside.

Like a firefly, I flickered, between mouthfuls of chocolate chip waffles. My eyes flashed at you over the table, and our legs pressed together as they always do. The heat spread from the palm of my hand into yours while you traced promises into my skin. Yesterday's stories could not call me away from you.

In the darkness of a near empty room, the world fell away. My arm crossed the length of your chest, my toes curled against yours. Time stopped, and all that was left was one breath between us - and we shared it willingly. The connection was made and we were powerless to break it.

In the waning hours of the evening it began to storm. Rain pelted down, fire crossed the sky on the backs of the angriest ancients, seams of clouds burst above me. And from the night you appeared all at once, flashlight in hand - rain collecting on your eyelashes - to kiss me one last time today. To protect me from nature's wrath, to secure our ties to forever. The electricity flashed inside the closing space between us.

You were the first, and the last, to wish me a happy birthday. After you had gone I let the rain fall on my skin, warm and cold all at once, reminding me. Once I thought I was transparent and longed to move among the real. Now I can barely remember anything but your love.

It crackles between us, around us, from within us - and catches the world on fire.

Saturday, August 20, 2011

I am honoured - OR - How I am completely humbled by the Universe once more

A LOOOOONG time ago, when I first moved my little thoughts to this corner of the blogosphere, I copied over a post I had written about cancer and divine intervention.
This was a pivitol moment in my life, where the intersection of fate and happenstance tripped into my path and it was proven, once and for all, that one person CAN change the world. Sarah Toller fought a hard battle against melanoma, and ultimately she surrendered peacefully. However, not without changing my life forever first.
A few months after her death, I was contacted by her mother about the post I had written. She wanted to use my post in a memoir she was compiling from Sarah's original blog, one she had kept over the course of a year during her illness. Of course I agreed, anything I can do to repay this woman, this family. And then I got busy with life.
Recently, I started revisiting Sarah's original blog and decided to search to see if the book had ever been published. It was, and I was soon to find out - my post made the final cut.
The wee paragraphs I threw out into the universe, as a way to say thank you, to say I see you fate, to acknowledge there is something larger than me at work out there, are now the Epilogue to Sarah's story. I have been honoured to be a piece of that life, even after the fact - and to have a place at the end of this book.
Thank you to Sarah's mother, who also recognized her daughter's hand in my story and wanted to share it with the world. I am eternally grateful to both of you - for giving me a shot to make a difference, however small that may be. And for giving me pages on which to tell my story - and the connections that are too close to be coincidence.
We are eternally tied... and I will think of you always.


Saturday, August 13, 2011

Simple Mornings

A melodic tone drew me from my slumber, calling to me before the day. In your t-shirt and last night's jeans, I padded out to my car as the sun slivered over the horizon. Pink and purple skies made promises for the day, and somewhere nearby I found you. You were headed to me.

Minutes later we were wrapped in pale sheets, sharing our morning whispers. My skin warmed your chilled hands, your lips woke my soul. We shared breath together, wound around each other. There seemed no beginning and no end to us.

We spent hours like that, lost in each other as the sun rose higher and silenced the birds. We lounged, fingers entwined, feet pressed together, before picking up our discarded skins in favour of steaming coffee. Two cups, two hearts, two kisses goodbye. In your t-shirt I fell asleep again in the space where you had lain. In the afterglow, I wondered if I had been dreaming all along...until I found your scent on my pillows.

Saturday, July 23, 2011


I have never felt like this. It washes over me when I'm not looking, this rush that travels through my veins, mixes with my blood - rockets through my soul, and leaves gooseflesh on its tail.

There is this connection between you and I. A measure of heat when my palm slides into yours, an electricity that crackles between our parted lips. It has always been there. I have always known you, somewhere in my bones. In my dreams. In my molecules. I was meant to love you.

Last night we hid in the shadows of the moon, clinging together in the cooling ripples. Your eyes reflected the stars pinned to the night sky and water lapped at our shoulders. In the quiet, we let our skin speak and our mouths rest. With dripping bodies, we climbed under the sheets and ate popsicles like teenagers. My heart was bursting with you, and I swore I could never be this happy.

This afternoon we travelled the humid aisles of our favorite bookstore. Our eyes tripped from the titles of a thousand voices to each other, and back again in an unspoken dance. In the heat, I twisted my hair up with one hand. You stole behind me and whispered a kiss on my strawberry birthmark. I wondered how I could possibly love you more than right that second.

This evening it rained pebbles on my bedroom window. When I peered over the sill, I saw you grinning up at me. And I fell in love with you all over again. You stepped off the pages of a fairy tale and into my arms. And then you set my paper heart aflame.

Grow old with me, my sweetest love.

Sunday, July 17, 2011

We Got Heart

It might have been a hundred degrees out there. The team may have gotten slaughtered EVERY game. You should have reached your limit by mid-afternoon.

But you didn't. You played hard, rose to the challenge, bonded with the team and made me proud. We may not have a trophy - but we got heart. Good game kiddo.

Friday, July 15, 2011

Down the Rabbit Hole

I woke up each morning to your beautiful artwork stretched out before me. Caught up in the remnants of sleepy, wistful dreams - before I knew the morning - I loved you. Entwined in the embrace of an old Hollywood love affair, we hurriedly planned our adventures.

Long ribbons of highway spun out before us, long and winding roads where we got lost together. Lost in each other. We fell blissfully down the rabbit hole. I do not know where the time went, ticking away warm, sunny days. Mapping long afternoons in abandoned movie theatres. In the quiet evening darkness, minutes stole by to the sound of our heart beating. For you know that we share only one.
Over pancakes, eggs and steaming coffee - we lived. In Wonderland. Where you and I were the only sense in the nonsense, and the rabbit lost his pocket watch.

Oh my ears and whiskers, if I had only knew the bliss I would find in you, I'd have drunk from the bottle ages ago.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Words Unspoken

Yesterday you carved our initials in the tree. You chose the roots, instead of the trunk, where the tree is strongest. I watched in silence, through a mist of love and tears for its beauty. I didn't tell you then, but you were carving our initials into my tender heart, into the sinews where it beats hardest.
In the dark we laid, in a tangle of arms and legs, and whispered. My eyes spoke to yours, lit up by the reflections of the world around us. My breath met yours in the space between our lips, filled with the promises we do not need to speak.
This morning you wrapped yourself around me. Words travelled along your sweet lips to my ear, finding its way across my skin and into my soul. Stay with me always. My skin rose to meet your touch, the sound of your palm on my hip whispering to you...for always, my sweetest love.

Saturday, July 9, 2011


I opened my eyes to the blinding flash of the world exploding around me. All that I have come to know is burning down, pieces of yesterdays, todays and tomorrows lie piecemeal. The rubble is alight, flames dancing over my hopes and eating my dreams from the inside.

I see nothing but the ashes, coating the guilded lilies and tarnishing my soul. Silence around me, smoke in the air, in my lungs. Acrid. I stand in the middle of the world and watch it burn. See the destruction, witness the violence - see it all crumble under my precarious touch. King Midas has nothing on me.

Leave me here, sitting crosslegged in the ash. Clutching my exploded heart and praying for daylight. You take with you all the colours of the world. My soul.

I am broken.

Monday, July 4, 2011


Today I left you behind, in a little room with curtains. I didn't want to, but they insisted I leave. You looked alone and tense, but I walked away with a smile of reassurance, so you couldn't see my sadness. You didn't know, couldn't know - that I left a piece of me pressed against your lips.

With time to kill and nowhere to go, I sat on a grassy hill overlooking the chaos. Coffee in hand, I watched the people of my own neighbourhood wander. Some talking - to others, or themselves - some walking. Some lingering on street corners and bus stops, others driving off to lives I cannot see. I remember this sight through my windowpane in my younger years. When I used to call this MY stomping grounds.

It was a time when I was alone and broken. Embarrassed, not only to be where I was, but WHO I was. Nothing came or left from that tiny room, except my hope. I remember late nights, awake while the old console television flickered plots older than my rotting dreams. Despair, drier than yellowed wallpaper stained my soul, I was sure I could never beat the demon.

I watched this world around me, quietly. My silence screamed to days gone by and I struggled to find where the light is. Sunlight crept over the hill, climbed the shadows and rested on one knee. And then, I came back for you.

Relief flooded your face as I rounded the double doors and into your sanctuary. I fingered the snaps on the shoulder of your gown, undoing, redoing. The metal was warm from your skin beneath, leaving impressions of a never ending circle on the pad of my thumb. Although I was relieved to find you intact, the real reward came with the realization that with you, I am whole. I am no longer that other person I watched in my memories.

Goodbye, sweet girl.

Saturday, July 2, 2011


Something has me thinking. About something else. About me. About that. About life. About you.
In an offhand conversation while the world whipped by, I opened my mouth and some words fell out. "Reflection is key to monitoring how you move in the world in general." I don't know what they meant. Do you?

And so I taste those words, roll them around in my mouth and try to get a feeling for how my tongue fits around them. Still, they are foreign. How do I wax philosophical about reflecting on life and ignore the fingernail scratching my gullet? Something feels different. Reflect on it.

Somewhere, between the humid sky and the heatwaves rising from the pavement, is the truth. But I don't reflect on it, now do I? I do not consider it, I do not question...why? I do not really want to know.

If life is just a series of rooms, and the people you find in them, how do we reflect on the purpose of the company? Are you teaching me something? I like the analogy, it seems to inspire reflection on the relationships you build around you, either short or long, romantic or otherwise. Am I learning?

If we are just in another room, for a little time, do I hear you leave? Does the door creak open and say goodbye or is it just the absence I feel in my heart? Can I come too?

Where are you going?

Anxiety, after all, is only the reflections you ignore. Isn't it?

Friday, July 1, 2011

Catching Flame

Today, I sat with a group of people I barely knew. We laughed, watched little feet splash in backyard pools, ate from the outdoor grill, and shared a piece of our lives. Our voices rose above the peals of laughter on the silky lawn, trading stories of yesterdays in the waning sun and dodging rogue water missiles.

Later, we sat huddled in damp towels on camping chairs, and watched millions of tiny sparks in the sky collect into explosions of brilliance. We laughed, pointed, clapped and collectively sighed over its beauty.

But for one moment, I was all alone. There was no sound but the crackling of tiny sparklers across the lawn, no image but the glowing embers on children's faces lit up by the simpleness of life. Looking across the twilight, all I could see was ten tiny little hands grasping sparklers, quietly appreciating the beauty of those flying fires. They came together like a wildfire: the quiet, the image, the feeling, and caught flame to my soul.

There it was, happiness.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011


Sometimes I do not see it coming. Standing on top of the world, I am busy with my head in the clouds and my heart in your hands. It rushes over me, through me, inside of me. It turns me inside out, forcing me to wear my damage on the outside.

Only you can see them, those secret places where the tissue is worn thin, stretched over too many heartaches. Only you can touch them, tracing the roadmaps of yesterdays. Your fingers slip over the empty places, the torn and ragged holes left by forgotten pieces of me. Only you can heal them, your love building bridges over sunken hopes and rotten dreams.

Sometimes I forget where you end and I begin. Until I can see your bandaids on my tattered soul. And then, I am grateful.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Dinner for Two: Or - Roasting my House Dress, 2.0

I had the insanely ambitious brilliant idea to took dinner for two. Now let us not forget that in my book: Kraft dinner, frozen pizza, grilled cheese, and chef Boyardee ALL count as viable dinner options. In fact, I prefer it that way. Who needs to cook when you can WARM! But I digress.

I planned a delicious roast beef, tender and steaming. Falling apart when you glance in its general direction, to die for and better than your mother's. Add to that sauteed golden potatoes with garlic, rosemary, paprika and fresh onions and some steamed carrots. Of course, I must have dessert. Let them eat cake!

... erm... or pie. Pecan pie. THE bane of my existence.

The fact that it probably isn't a great plan to make the pie for the first time WHEN OTHERS ARE EATING IT notwithstanding, last night I made a pie. For the purposes of today, we will call it Pie #1. Of course it was baked to perfection and steaming hot with all its pecan-y goodness. It was NOT undercooked in the center and overcooked on the top, it did NOT smell a little like burning, and I so totally COULD insert a knife gently in the center. I swear.

Last night, I tossed and turned in my bed, agonizing over Pie #1. Guest of Honour has been speaking of Pecan Pie seven odd months now. He? Is expecting damn good pie! I must deliver! This morning, I mulled over Pie #1 again. It didn't look any better by the morning light, coffee or not. So I began Pie #2.

Dear Pie #2: You are expected to be delicious in all of the traditional ways. I expect you to supersede your forlorn burned brother, Pie #1. You must elicit nothing but moans of appreciation and eye rolling from Guest of Honour, and should you fail to deliver on any or all of said requirements, I will feed you to the raccoon of doom. I promise you this.

It looks good, flaky light crust, toasted pecans and beautiful brown top... it looks like the picture. It had better taste of it, or he is eating my roasted house dress. And liking it.

Dear Roast Beef #1....

{image from Etsy}

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Only the Whisper Hits the Pavement

I've decided that I have become a blogging slacker. To remedy this, I have given the blog a whole new feel...

I've been reinventing my workspace as I get ready to begin writing my thesis. It's funny how when you really look at it, your old working space (the one that's gotten you through five years of university) is really a friggin mess. How did I EVER birth any of those endless essays, fits of genius or manaical opinions in such UTTER chaos?

I've chosen to move my workspace into my bedroom, where all is quieted in soothing tones of silver, teal and chocolate brown. Instead of kids toys and general mayhem, I've got an orchid, some plants, some comfort.... SOME PEACE! I've swept aside the piles of papers and books, coffee cups and pen shrapnel. I've come away with something more soothing and condusive to the writing process.

It is, in some way - like a rite of passage. As I grow from passive student to opinion producer; from school to career; in all honesty from child to adult, my workspace has changed around me. It is my hope that in changing the atmosphere of my blogging space, so too will my writing.

Wiping away the coffee stains on my life....

Monday, April 18, 2011

The Elephant in the Room (or - this is gotta be a good life)

Spent the last couple of days living in nostalgia, looking through old pictures. Reading old emails. Stepping into the shadows of who I used to be and finding, surprisingly, that it doesn't fit anymore. And for some reason, that makes me feel sad.

I choose to live where the light is. Where love is possible. Where possible is possible. I turn my back on the creeping shadows and turn my face to the sun. All this time, I thought I was beating it, only to look down and see those shadows shackled to my ankles. I am standing in a puddle of my own rotting hope.

So much negativity pressing down on me.
From the outside, moving inward. Full of sickness and rot.

I'm turning my shovel in the ashes and I feel like I keep searching, looking for a shard of colour in the surrounding miles of gray. I wonder if I am a caterpillar who cloaks his potential in the winter of his cocoon, or just a silly centipede trying to convince myself otherwise.

Feel it in my gut, something is shifting. Almost imperceptible, but its there. My anxiety climbs as long as I cannot put my finger on exactly what has changed. Or why. That tremor in the earth, through my toes and into my calves, that turns my stomach. The wind in my hair is loathing, not freeing. Stealing my breath and making no promises.

Sitting, clawing at my thoughts inside my brain and praying for the break. This is gotta be a good life. Somewhere. Or it has to have the potential to be. There has to be something to come from it all. I am a lover, a giver, a friend. I am also a liar, a poser, and a thief. Aren't you?

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Keeping Abreast of the Situation


Deep breath - where to begin, where to begin. I'd love to create this long, witty blog that will have you in stitches - but I'm still in stitches so let's go back to the drawing board.

I've been flat on my back for the last two weeks, and am just now beginning to join the human race again after a recovery from hell. I had the breast reduction surgery on March 8th, and its been rocky. Of course that led to three weeks off from the Masters of Education program - leaving me up to the proverbial tits in work (pun intended)!

All inappropriate joking aside - I thought I'd take a few moments to talk about this whole plastic surgery thing, and tell some truths to those who are thinking about it.

First shocker: it's not as bad as you think it will be!! And I'm being completely honest. Here in Ontario, it is day surgery. So basically I went in at 7 am and was on my way home around 2 pm. I spent three hours in the recovery room, and 2 hours in actual surgery. I WILL say, however - that is SUCKS when you first wake up after surgery (before the pain meds come along). I woke up FREEZING and in serious ouch. To top it off, the breathing tube they placed in my airway compressed my lip against my teeth, so I had a major fat lip as well! Thankfully, the lovely recovery nurses brought me a warm blanket (actually blew hot air on me) and some morphine for my IV. That made the world a little better.

Who am I kidding? That made the world a WHOLE lot better half an hour later after they gave me enough to take off the edge...

...of consciousness.

The tricky part at first was the drainage tubes that ran into each breast, and the little self-contained collection drums that were suspended from my bra. The entry points were very tender and it was hard to wear regular sized clothing. They were removed a day later (SUCK), and it was easier to move around after that. I have to admit that taking care of myself was not an option, so I shipped Thing One and Thing Two off to Dad's for the week, and stayed with a special person who was able to wake me for my pain meds (every four hours), cook me meals, assist me with getting dressed and helping me wash my hair in the sink. I was also fortunate to lean on my old friend Jenny to get me to appointments and help me once I returned back home. I thank those two very much for all their help and support. And of course - dear old Dad was my chauffeur and nurses aid on the day of surgery.

The pain was not what I thought it would be. To be honest - the problem areas were: drainage tubes, pot holes, seatbelts and anything that flies through the air. The pain was not how I imagined it, it was a severe discomfort. It felt like I was a breast feeding mom who missed sixteen meals (SO FULL AND UNCOMFORTABLE), but without relief. Certain parts of the breast were numb, probably thankfully so, but it creates an uncomfortable irritating feeling. I used ice packs to bring down the swelling, which did help. I should mention that although nipple sensation has been completely restored (PHEW), some sections of the breast are still numb.

During week two, I developed an infection in ole Lefty - which created a hot, swollen and painful addition to my recovery. I was placed on a 10 day cycle of antibiotics, which helped. To be honest, currently the right one is feeling quite well and minimally irritated, but the left is still causing me issues. I think perhaps the infection has just slowed the healing process on that side a little, so I'm anxious to have them catch up to each other. It's still swelling now and again and feeling irritated. It's almost like I've been wearing a bra with sandpaper on one side. I can't seem to get it comfortable. I am hoping it continues to improve.

Last Friday I had the sutures removed. Which is somewhat of a misnomer. They are dissolvable stitches, so they needed to clip the knots on either side of each breast and at each nipple. I have to admit that burned A LOT, but I was happy to have only that to deal with, and not the actual removal of each stitch. It did make me feel a bit like a patchwork quilt, and I'm still a little afraid of just busting apart. Like one minute everything is fine, and the next there are shards of breast flying in the face of my colleagues. I'm sure I'll get over that.

I was forbidden to shower until the stitches were dealt with, which was an arduous process of bathing from the waist down, then drying off and washing my hair with a measuring cup. I was happy to finally clean myself properly, however I did (and still do) get a little freaked out touching them. It's like alien breasts - they don't look or feel like mine, and the incisions freak me out exponentially. I''m sure once the numbness subsides and the scars aren't so fresh - we will become better acquainted.

So - all in all - I'm week three and doing ok. This lefty is going to have to get it together soon, I'm becoming frustrated with the irritated feeling and the swelling, but I have to remember to have patience as my body adjusts and heals. I'm beginning to get my energy back - but am finding I still tire very easily and would prefer to nap every day, although it is not a luxury I can afford. At the end of the day - I think it was worth it. Although I have to buy all new clothing because my shirt fronts sag to my bellybutton.



Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Finding Strength in Cliche Dreams...

This post has been a long time coming. Perhaps thirty-one years long, I cannot be sure. Somehow I had always hoped to arrive at this point - while at the same time feeling quite sure it would never come. Isn't it funny.

We all like to think we are strong. That the experiences of our childhood do not truly affect us - or make us less than what we should be. That WE will overcome it through our own perseverance, strength and determination. We use these as walls to build around our hearts - impenetrable fortresses of our own personal will that somehow prove our resiliency. But do they?

All my life I have longed to be loved. Truly loved, cared for and respected for just the person that I am, flaws and all. Although that search has led me through dark alleys and into the arms of blackness and back, somewhere I forgot what I was looking for. At some point, I raised those walls of strength to prove that I am independent, secure and self-sufficient. That trust is not something that I need to give away, but something to find within myself. In doing that - I stopped growing.

I have had a few great relationships and some terrible ones. I thought I was giving everything, working my hardest and yet failing miserably at each attempt. I walk away from those ruins with some beautiful memories and some lessons learned. I also walk away with deeper questions for myself. When the walls came tumbling down, the pyres burned and what was left of them were consumed in the inevitable stench of bitterness. I noticed that I, too, was in shambles. If I am honest with myself, I have been in shambles for some time now.

So what to do with it? As we all do, I laid in the corner and licked my wounds. I spent months carefully peering through the holes left behind, trying desperately to match up those tattered edges with who I thought I was. When I couldn't make that happen, I retreated.

And here is where the cliche comes alive. I breathe life into it, only because for me? It is everything.

Love heals all.

I can say I have never put much stock in these lofty ideals - and now I know why - I had no idea what love really was. I had a version - where I hid behind my strength and mistrust and asked others to jump over insurmountable obstacles. And yet I wondered why they failed. Every. Time. I had no idea that the one thing I held back was the very thing I had to give - myself.

How could I have ever imagined that tearing down these barriers that protected me would make me the strongest I have ever been? That the fear of placing the most tender part of me in someone else's hands would be the most frightening - and yet most freeing - thing of all? The commitment has been tried and tested - first by you and then by me - pulled at, turned inside out and then lovingly cradled. I have been afraid - really afraid. Trembling, overwhelming and teary afraid. Your strength has propped me up and allowed me to release the reins on my heart. To trust in your weight beneath me, the shelter of your arms and the warmth in your heart. And when I could finally stand, I was more than strong enough to prop you up too.

We haven't taught each other how to love. We must have known how - somewhere deep inside ourselves. However, we are still teaching each other, and ourselves, how to allow it to come. Like waves, it crashes over us, consumes us and erases the fallen sandcastles of old hurts. It leaves us refreshed and intact. Perhaps then, the cliche could be modified. It may not be that love heals all - perhaps just the *right* love can heal our fears, quell our anxieties and soothe old wounds. The questions I ask myself now have drastically changed. No longer do I need to re-evaluate my relationships or meter out my heart. Now I go freely forward with you - in the face of risking the sweetest part of me - the most fragile side, asking myself: how can I show you TODAY how much more I love you when, as you say, "there is no conceivable scale that could ever measure how much love that is."

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Aaaaaaannnnndddd Plastic Surgeons Take over the World!


It's been some time since I've posted anything out here in the virtual desert, but I thought I'd write a little note to share something up and coming.

I? Am finally!!??!! going to have my breast reduction!!!!

It's scheduled for March 8, which means that I'll be needing to pull away from the university rat race for a week or so, but hey - its totally worth it! I've arranged for Thing One and Thing Two to sleep elsewhere for a couple nights while I suffer and made all the arrangements to be sure I'm not totally on my own.

I'm looking forward to bathing suits that fit and bras that are cheaper and prettier. Cause we all know that anything over a DD is total grandma land. Ugh.

Wish me luck!

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Random Love Notes from My Inbox

Coming home from class tonight I found a random love note in my inbox:

"You are my lover, my friend, my partner in life
The reason I breath and truly love life
You're the snow that falls down on a slow winter's day
My passion, my love, the reason I gaze
You're the sole reason I love
Please never go away"

To the man who wrote me such words:

You my love? Are ADORABLE. Thank you for loving me enough to write these beautiful little things and sending them my way. I couldn't be happier - loving you is the easiest thing I've ever had to do. You make my life shiny.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Amor est Vitae Essentia

Never could I have EVER known that I would feel this happy.
It is this warmth, every morning when I open my eyes and I think of you, it crashes over me like waves - warming my toes, tummy, arms... my heart. It starts a smile tickling across my face, ear to ear -a silly teenage grin that never wipes off.

I start my day - EVERY day, knowing that I am loved. And that I love. Real storybook love - where nothing matters, there are no boundaries, no rules - no exceptions. That my flaws are loved - that I love yours. That there is nothing in this world that can take it apart - this crazy head-over-heels, tight chested perfection.

That we are so connected - that I often pick up my phone just before your text rings in, or that just the moment that I am thinking of you - the telephone rings and I hear the deep rich sound of your voice. That we can talk about anything, be completely vulnerable, lay in bed for hours just sharing minds, souls and skins. That we do not ask anything of each other, or expect anything more than simple honesty, respect and love. That we didn't plan this thing of ours - that we came crashing into each others lives just when we needed each other.

Fiercely, madly - truly...