On Tonight

Tonight I sat on the steps in the
backyard and doubled over onto my lap, arms around my legs, the knees
of my jeans absorbing my tears. The dogs looked at me with something
like concern, and the mosquitoes bit my ankles.

I am lonely. I want someone to notice.
Call me! Text me! Email me! IM me! Appear on my doorstep! Say "hi", extend an invitation!
I want someone to connect with, and I'm sort of mad at everyone I know
for not taking action. I know that's unfair: If I want this to happen,
I should make it happen by doing it myself. But I don't want to impose
when I feel like this--who can I burden with my doubts and my fears?
Everyone I trust has their own worries, I don't want to add to them.
And I don't even know how to put what I'm feeling into words--who
exists who can understand without explanation?
Besides, I know that
if I reached out, this feeling isn't what we'd talk about. The deepest
stuff isn't often addressed, even my most intimate friendships usually
operate closer to the surface. It's not a bad thing. A distraction
would be welcome. However, it seems like it would be selling myself
short to actually seek it out. That's why I turned down the one
invitation I had tonight to see a movie with a friend. I kind of regret
that now.
So, I'll sit in the dark empty house, play Minesweeper over and over, consider making dinner (although I'll probably put it off until it's practically too late), and cry on the steps.

Because feeling bad is easier than feeling good. And maybe
because feeling bad is what makes feeling good worth it.

i don't know what to hope for when there are so many people hurting and alone and there is so much beauty in the world .

On Changes and Constants

It wasn't until a few weeks ago, when someone pointed it out to me, that I realized how proud I am of what's happening in my life.
Although I know my job is temporary, I love it, and I'm good at it. The other day I asked my supervisor if there were any areas in which I need improvement, and he leaned back in his chair considering before he declared that he couldn't think of a thing except my lack of experience.
I applied to four grad schools and was surprised to be accepted to all of them, and so in the fall I will be pursuing a Masters at the Boston College Graduate School of Social Work. This has me positively beaming. It feels good to be wanted, and BC is a great school But mostly, I think it's the first thing I've ever done truly on my own, and it's going swimmingly.
Between when work gets out for the summer in June, and when I start school in September, I will be working at Camp Triumph, which will be a stupendous learning experience, as well as a great item on my resume.
I will also be spending a week in Rome with Ashley; going Jess and Rob's wedding, the first of my friends to get married; and starting to pester Rachel about the planning of her wedding next summer. I hope to go to Edgartown every weekend.
I’m practicing yoga, trying to be organized (ha!), and working at being honest and up front with others and myself.

For about a week, I was flying high on the recognition of all these wonderful things. But just because I’m proud of my life doesn’t mean it’s all butterflies and sunshine.
I still live with my parents in the suburbs, for instance, which is cost effective but also socially limiting. I don’t have many friends, and in fact, the person I’m closest too is moving away soon.
There is no one here that I can call in the middle of the night, or cry in front of, or snuggle up next to. There isn’t even anyone I could go out dancing with. I miss those things.
I’m also struggling with being a very-nearly-grown-up-person. Paying for BC is daunting, my car needs a bundle of work, I want to move out. All those things are about money, but they’re also about learning new skills and making decisions. I’m trying not to let that kind of problem get in the way of what needs to be, or should be done.

Yet, all those things are negligible. I can cope with them, because everything else is so good and because I know they will work out with time.
But there is always the lurking desire for more. The Ache. The need to be a part of something. The longed for inspiration and creativity. The wish for a healthier spirit.
These are the things I lay awake and cry about at night.
I think my heart might implode if I don’t find something to fill it up. I ask “Why can’t I connect with anything?!” I despair that I don’t wake up every morning soaring.

I find myself thinking: maybe I won’t go to BC. Maybe I’ll stay in Italy and learn to cook. Maybe I’ll shave my head and start fresh. Maybe I’ve made some huge mistakes and should try to undo them. Maybe I should donate all my processions to charity. Maybe I should become a vegan. Maybe I should meditate. Maybe I should become a certified yoga instructor. Maybe I should move someplace far away. Maybe I should be a professional artist.
Maybe I should change my life, because this one clearly isn’t working.

But I don’t do those things. I don’t think any of them will really help. Instead I go to the book store, I read poetry, I eat pasta, I drink tea, I call a friend, I pick up my camera, I take the dogs for a long walk. I remind myself that it’s normal to feel this way, even when things are good, because we ever stopped yearning we would never move forward. I remind myself that I’m lucky. I remind myself that it’s okay.

On My Day

I'm at my aunt's house in Vermont for the weekend. I decided to come at the last minute, because I expected to have some quality time with my family. However, it turned out that my mum went to visit her father-in-law, and my aunt had to bring my cousin back to school, so I have been left alone with the puppies.
I was disappointed, of course, and at first I was a little worried. I'm not good at being alone, I tend to get sad and lonely. However, I've had a great day: I took a walk around to see all the changes around here (a lot has been cleared out and there's a new apple orchard), I took some pictures which I haven't done in ages, I sat out on the patio and read my book, I took a nap with all the windows open. Spring hasn't sprung up here yet, but it's certainly tightly coiled and just about to!
Now life has returned to the house and I'm sipping a cocktail while Besty is on the phone. I just planted some flowers in Dave's garden, so I'm going to go sit with them and pick mud from my fingernails.

I'm sorry I haven't updated lately. I've got a real entry brewing in my head, so hopefully that will be posted soon.

Until then! Ciao.

Recap (or: When It Rains, It Pours)

Thursday - Rowena's birthday, much crying and no one noticed.
Friday - work w/o boss where one student is suspended, another comes unmedicated
Saturday - day spent on taxes and FAFSA
Sunday - Saturdays generally suck
Monday - end of rope at work
Tuesday - dear friend has brain tumor
Wednesday - Valentine's day, work being cancelled is no fun as am snowed in and alone, forget to let out neightbor's dogs
Thursday - car covered with ice, car won't start, step-grandmother has massive stroke and dies, left alone in house

Today I have to go to work for the last day before break, and that should be okay because we've got a fun schedule. I need to get my car fixed and take the dogs to the kennel and arrange for a trip to the airport on both ends and pack and clean the house so it's ready to be empty for a few days. Then I'm getting my hair dyed. I'm hoping that this trip will be filled with warm hugs and good friends and joy and wellness (but I'm a bit trepidatious).

and that's just the past week.

On Possibilities

Today is cold and silver and white. Work was cancelled, and I stayed indoors watching the weather swirl outside. Usually, I would savor a day like this. A day for hot chocolate and slippers and quiet.

But today I am aching for spring. I want the fresh green of new growth and open windows and the sounds of kids playing. I want music carried through bright air. I want to walk barefoot and to grin at the possibility of it all.


There don't seem to be many possibilities today.

If life were a movie...

...the lighting would always be perfect.
...everyone would be beautiful.
...if things went wrong, it would be only in the most perfect ways.
...seduction would be an option.
...we would do things with abandon.
...sex would be graceful.
...I would look pretty when I cry.
...love would be enough.
...everyone would be happy at the end.

-verb (used without object)
1. to have or suffer a continuous, dull pain.
2. to feel great sympathy, pity, or the like.
3. to feel eager; yearn; long.
-noun
4. a continuous, dull pain (in contrast to a sharp, sudden, or sporadic pain).




On New Years Eve, Mum went around the table to ask everyone to make a resolution. I had been planning on not making one but—after Mum had resolved not to say anything about anyone that she wouldn’t say to their face, and Ashley resolved to have a better semester than the last, and Dana resolved something sort of goofy—I chose to share aloud an idea from Jen Lemen that I had already decided to borrow: I resolved to listen to what my heart was aching for, and then to follow that Ache.
It’s a two-step process, really. First, I have to actually hear what my heart is saying, which is a definite challenge. Never mind actually listening to It.

I’m finding what I already knew: that It’s easier to hear when the world is quiet and my body is still, like at night. (This is part of why I hate being alone with nothing with which to occupy myself, but that’s another topic.) At those times the Ache feels so strong that it is amazing to me that It is the same Ache that quietly permeates my days. Like breathing, my heart’s Ache is always there but goes unnoticed until I turn my attention towards It. Only unlike breathing, which we all need to live, it’s hard to believe that a person can survive with such subtle and silent pains and dreams being whispered all the time inside of them.

Even harder to believe is that we are all surviving like this. I’m pretty sure that I’m not the only one whose heart is aching, which makes me ache even more. Worse still, it seems that even if we follow our Aches, more will develop. I’m starting to suspect that most people will live their entire lives aching in some way, including me.

I suppose we need to ache so we continue to hope and dream and strive and desire; it’s also important to have compassion; and if we don’t know pain, how can we ever know pleasure? I suppose as long as we ache we’ll have the capacity to grow.
But that doesn’t make this resolution easier, and it certainly doesn’t make It hurt any less.

Photos be frontin'

Check this out, Kittens!

Super cool, no?

On Blowing

I imagine this is what it feels like to be a balloon.

I feel so empty and limp. I want to be filled up and whole and beautifully curved in completeness. I want to soar, to be weightless, to break free of the earth and get closer to the limitless sky. I want it so badly.
I keep asking myself what is it that will fill this void in my chest, who's breath is going to give me shape? I keep looking around, how this is going to be done?

But here's the thing: A balloon is filled with air. I don't want to be relying on something or someone else to make me feel taught with completeness or uplifted. I want to feel whole and to soar all by myself.

So I keep reminding myself to keep blowing.
You know that hard part, just before the balloon starts to swell? The part when you're red in the face, and you think you might pass out or just give up? That's where I am. I'm out of breath, but it will be easier once I get past this part.

Deep breath, puffed cheeks, pursed lips... b l o w

On Sundays and Why I Hate Them

Christianity says that Sunday should be a day of rest. But just because a third of the world's population identify themselves as Christian doesn't seem to have any effect on what the world does on Sundays. In fact, I think this whole "day of rest" thing makes me hate Sundays more because a lot of things are closed on Sundays, so there are fewer things to be distracted by (like the mail, the mail can distract me for a long time... we get lots of catalogs).

On Sunday it feels as if one should spend the day getting ready for the week: I need to do laundry so I have clothes to wear to work, tidy my room so I can find what I'll need tomorrow morning, make a to-do list of what I need to accomplish this week, write some emails....
Or it feels as if one should spend the day doing things that you don't have time to do during the week: I need to vacuum up the mess the dogs made, paint my nails and shave me legs, grocery shop, make my bed up clean, while I'm at it I should make Mum's bed up clean because she's been sick, and I really need to work on my grad school application essays and write thank you notes.
It feels like it should be a very productive day. Even if you do rest, it feels as if it should be productive rest: I should read a book or do a crossword puzzle, and I better shower and get dressed first; or maybe I should go for a walk or do yoga.

I just want to stay in my pajamas and lounge all day. I just want to watch crappy television or maybe not even get out of bed. I just want to sit in a comfy chair with my little old iBook and chat with my friends or play on Flickr or read the internet. I just want to take a long hot bath with candles.
But if I do those things I feel like I'm wasting the day, like I'm not utilizing all this potentially productive time.

I know I'm not the only one who feels this way: The other reason I hate Sunday is that any chances of having any fun with people have gone by. Apparently, fun can happen Friday night or any time Saturday, but Sunday is out of the question. Everyone is busy at home, trying to force their id into submission so that they can be productive, and then feeling guilty when they spend an hour watching the Food Network.

Here's my point: Isn't spending an hour watching the Food Network productive? Don't we need time to lounge, time to nap, time to take a bath? Let's not not see doing nothing as time wasted, but instead as time spent fortifying ourselves - time productive to our well-being. Time to wind down and cool off and find a little peace before throwing ourselves into Monday morning and our week. We also need to spend time with each other. Let's get a cup of tea together or go to a movie. We're so busy during the week, and the weekend is so short. This is important and productive stuff.

It's noon right now, and I've spent my morning stretched out in bed and wrapped in a blanket on the couch watching TV. I've had two cups of tea and I've only gotten up to let the puppies in or out and to get some left over Thai food out of the fridge.
I am going to go get dressed now. I will do some laundry and go grocery shopping and vacuum. I might work on my essays and write some notes. But I'm promising myself right now that I'm not going to tell myself that I could have cleaned my room if I'd gotten up a little earlier. Or that if I didn't watch Everyday Italian I could have done an extra load of laundry and painted my nails. I needed this time to relax.

No guilt here.

I'm Not as Unpopular as I Thought.

Well, all month long I've been tracking the hits here... there have been a total of zero. Until today. I looked into it and found that the html script that keeps track of all that data had gotten all messed up when Blogger reinvented itself! So it's not that no one cares - which is what I'd feared.

This means I'll have to start posting again. I'll get right on that.

Hope you've all had a happy holiday!

Sometimes I think it might be easier to be damaged and broken.
On occasion I'm convinced that I am.

But I'm pretty sure that I'm stronger than that.

What I Think I Will Say Tomorrow

This is a photo of my uncle Dave helping my mummy out of the car at her wedding to my daddy 23 years ago tomorrow:

Check out those pants! Tomorrow is also Dave's memorial service, which is actually a big celebration in his honor. He died a few months ago.
I think I'm going to talk. I think this is what I'm going to say:

Dave would have loved this party. The consummate host, he’d be making sure that everything runs smoothly and remedying the situation when it doesn’t, he’d make sure that we all have a full glass in our hand—Dave is responsible for the first time I got drunk, by the way—and he’d ensure that each of us feels cared for and special.

That’s what I miss the most: at some point after greeting me with a lively “how’s my darlin’!”, Dave always found a moment to check in with me, no matter what the occasion. He really wanted to know what was happening in my life, and it was really easy to tell him. He made me feel like an equal, like the most important person in the world to him, and he’d offer advice so insightful that after so many of those conversations I can’t remember a single piece of it, I just know that it changed me and my world.
I know he didn’t do this just for me, I’m sure a lot of you know exactly what I’m talking about—and I’m not even jealous.

There is a dichotomy happening here: Looking forward to this weekend I felt a strange mix of excitement and trepidation. How great it is to be in this beautiful place—and I don’t think I’ve ever seen it as beautiful as it is today—with these wonderful people! But I keep expecting to hear Dave’s laugh. This is a time to mourn, but it’s a celebration. There is laughter and there are tears. And that’s okay. With that in mind, I wanted to share with you this quote that I keep returning to. It’s from Rumi, a 13th century Persian poet and theologian:
“We are the mirror as well as the face in it. We are tasting the taste this minute of eternity. We are pain and what cures pain, both. We are the sweet cold water and the jar that pours.”

Please let me know what you think. Is it too speachy? Does it make sense and flow well? It is okay to use words like "dichotomy" and "consummate"? Should I go to the podium or talk from my chair? Is it normal for me to be so anxious about it?
I'll be awaiting your imput...

On Staying Strong

Earlier this week someone navigated to this site by doing a Google search for "molly merrick stay strong"

I'm sure they'd seen the site before and wanted to find their way back here... but I appreciate the reminder. I needed it.


Oh, and also: Thanks for your visits!

Actually, we named him Picco (short for piccolo).

Introducing Azzo

...or Mauro, I haven't decided yet.
He comes home in about 2 weeks.

Holes are spaces with no things in them.

I've gone through stages when I can't find things. Last fall I kept locking myself out of my apartment, I lost my wallet, and on several occasions I lost my subway card. This summer I've been loosing things again - only now I'm losing people. My great-uncle died this week, my wonderful uncle Dave died last week, my dog died right after my birthday (okay, not a person), an old family friend died on the 4th of July...
and then there are the misplaced: Rachel and Ashley and my Girlies and all the friends and aquintances I left behind in Illinois (and at Porters, and at AB, and beyond). I know they're not gone forever, but I can't quite get my hands on them right now when I need them. Like when you're late and you can't find your keys.
And of course, there's Boy. I don't know what to say about him, except there's an emptiness.

There's an emptiness that comes from all of this. It's an expanding kind of emptiness. It's like a wall that needs pictures, but there are no pictures to hang. I lost some important things, and when I go to fill the empty space left, I find that whatever it was I was going to use is missing. Someone dies and all I want is for someone to come and keep me company, but there's no one to call.

That's not partucularly true. There are lots of people I could call. I don't lose friends, I sort of collect them. There is no one in my life who I wouldn't want to see or hear from again. No one I've cut ties with. Some of my relationships are packed away in storage, some are sitting on a shelf and collecting dust, I mentioned earlier that some are misplaced, many need some repair after so much disuse. But if I pulled them out and shined them up a bit, I know they'd still sparkle. It's just that they seem to be just out of my reach.

So the sense of emptiness prevails.
And I'm trying to fill it up in other ways: With my family. With grad school research. I joined a gym and I'm actually using it. It's a project that fills the empty hours. That's productive.
Not so productive is my desire to shop. I want more books and more shoes and I'm dying for a new laptop and maybe some clothes or accesories or jewelry or home furnishings. I feel like those things are going to fill the void a little. But the reality is that I will love my new brown t-strap wedge heels, and I'll imagine how cute they'll look with skirts in the fall, and I'll be so disappointed and annoyed when they get their first scuff. But then they'll get more scuffs and soon they'll be another pair of shoes that I own and not something special. I'll still use and enjoy them, but they'll be something else weighing me down and not something that lifts me up.

I don't think there's anything wrong with owning things - some of my favorite things are things (go figure) - but I'm looking for something fill me up and raise me higher. Maybe I need to make new friends - I don't even know where you find them these days - or maybe I need to invest the time and effort in my old collection.
Maybe I just need to rely on TJ Maxx and their liberal return policy and excellent deals for awhile.
Maybe if I can flounder a little longer the answer will come to me - and maybe not.

But here's something I'm sure of: No more losing people. You hear that everyone? Just because you haven't heard from me in awhile doesn't mean that I'm done with you, so don't go dying on me. I can't stand it and I won't have it.
I'm glad we settled that.

Here is an excerpt of an email my aunt Polly sent to the family about her husband, Dave:
It is with profound sadness that I am writing to you to tell you about our family's decision to let Dave go in peace. In spite of every conceivable diagnostic test, there is simply no explanation for the extensive clot in Dave's lungs; it is irreversible and untreatable. He has been 100% dependent on the ventilator and cannot survive without one. Continuing to do so is explicitly against his wishes so, after several meetings with his doctors, our family is going to honor his directives.

It hasn't happened yet, and I'm just waiting to hear when it does.

I might write more on this later. But that's enough for now.

Except for: no, I'm not okay.

On Love of Drama

At work the other day one of the custodians was moving an empty filing cabinet and punctured his wrist. There was quite a lot of blood so we made him go to the nurse who turned out to be incompetent. As my boss talked to the woman on the phone with tone of combined horror and aggravation, I stayed nearby and took it all in. One of the ladies I work with turned to me, smiled and said “You love drama, don’t you?”
She has no idea. I hate to be a part of it, but I adore being in the proximity of it… this is mostly a product of my family, I think.
Her remark made me laugh at the time. But there has been a lot of drama lately. When Mae West claimed that “too much of a good thing is wonderful” I think she was probably talking about jewelry or ice cream... because even if you thrive when big things are going on, there is a limit to how much a girl can take.

Everything that is happening keeps reminding me again and again how important relationships are. I’m not referring to how valuable it is to have bonds with the people in your life – although that’s also important. I’m talking about the roles that we play and how we’re connected.
Have you ever held someone’s hands and then both of you leaned way back and balanced one another’s weight? If one of the two people falls or lets go to scratch his elbow the other person is going to lose balance or fall. Imagine that balance with more people, now. Imagine your family, or everyone you know, or even the whole world. If one person changes or disappears every one is going to be affected until the balance is found again.
I am in the midst of that post-change confusion. There are nodes in my network, including me, who have disappeared or shifted or let go and now every one and ever thing is stumbling about.
I trust that equilibrium will be found again, but in the meantime it’s sloppy and scary. And for now, drama is not something I love.

----

Postscript: I like this photo for it’s simplicity and the different levels of meaning it carries for me. I know that it's probably as cryptic as the entry itself. I've left a lot of details out because this isn't the place for stuff like that. But you can always ask and I might tell you.