It was like a weird teenage wonderland, pizza and something beautiful between us. Here we are, I guess. Here you are, I guess. It's refreshing.

I'm really overwhelmed with not talking about things, and that's important to deal with. This feels like a grown up issue I can't grasp fully, but the disappointment I felt this week has just been incredible. "Sometimes you do the right thing, but it isn't the right thing for another person." It was funny hearing that, like at the end of Wizard of Oz when Dorothy states what she's learned- a funny moment of absolute reflection, like a moment of this is what I was meant to learn. But nothing is changed because of it. It's frustrating to feel out of control.

I write this here because I'm not sure how to deal with it there.

"I will do these things inside your love
However fragile is how broken it becomes
If I don't tell you how I'm feeling it's because
I'm still learning, but I will learn to love

This is how we walk together, old and filled with holes
In these sweaters, scarves and fireworks between us holding hands
Inside a million stars together as we walk
And we sit on some old bench I touch your hand in this old park
Inside of you, inside us"

For you, I'll try.

It's actually amazing how disappointed I am. No, really. I'm amazed that I can even feel like this.

Today/night has not been the highlight of February.

No, but seriously...

Too Much to Remember

Something random I wrote, maybe the beginning to a story. Maybe the end. I don't know what it is. Written in October, inspired by crumbled mountains and the Gervais family driveway.

Xoxo, kg.

---

I watched her books disappear over weeks… the words bound shrinking just like those between us. I had done nothing wrong, she said. But I knew better. I knew that if I had done nothing wrong, she wouldn’t leave me, wouldn’t have already left me. Here we go.

Before I fall asleep, I can still feel her breathing down my neck, her softness bringing me to life when I least wanted it. I never took advantage of these kinds of things.

Is this not the greatest tragedy?

I didn’t mean to fall apart, of course. But it’s wedged between us, something like air but more beautiful, something like water but heavier. All I can feel is my heart breaking again and again and again and again and again here we go, I say instead: I still have our box. I can’t help it. I can’t throw her away. I can’t give her to goodwill or forget worn jeans or mermaid hair. I didn’t know how to keep her and so she was gone. If I believed in God, I would have prayed to Him. Who the hell knows, maybe I did. I can’t remember anything except trying not to cry, trying to hold myself away from her, when all I wanted was to feel the soft animal of her body falling against mine, make me somebody. She wasn't the only one, but she was the only one that matters. You would learn to hate me if you knew.

Nothing Even Matters

Not a legit music video or anything...

But. I'm so in love with how good this song is. Smooth. Reminds me of rainy days and feeling calm.

Today was wonderful.

There's a black cat sitting on the sill of wide open windows in my San Jose home. My hair is in my signature messy bun and it's my day off, nowhere to be. There's a group of kids outside ringing their bicycle bells (no, seriously.) and Jerry's guitar is singing to me. I finished my unicorn puzzle this morning. It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood. I feel wonderful.

It was a bizarre conversation between you and I, fumbling between business and curiosity, laughing and misery. I never know what to say to people when they ask me what I'm doing. I never know what I'm supposed to say when they ask what I've been up to. I'm always doing the same things. I brag about the little things because I don't have much else to say... a poem will be published and I don't know how to talk about it... I know it's significant but at the same time, it's not so much. But for me, it's something huge. Is that enough for me to talk about? Can I hold your attention with my small joys?

The truth is, what I'm up to is teaching myself to be happy.

I still laugh at all the wrong times. I'm not anxious anymore. I have enough money, always. I don't eat enough. I cry rarely. Something good is happening. I miss my sisters. I'm falling apart toward someone else, and it's beautiful. I don't have any cats. I don't know how to hold a conversation a lot of times because I've buried myself alive. I had a girl scout cookie for breakfast. My heart is full of something hopeful. The weather here is perfect every day... even when it rains.

I have changed. Not much, but I have. I want you to know that I answered the phone this time not to help you or give you some pointers or anything. I answered the phone because I prefer to say yes, because I think it's time. I know there is a sadness in all of this. But there's something valuable in old friends and old anything... maybe for you, the depths of me that destroyed us are all you know to look to when you need saving. Just an idea.

There's something about how good this day is that reminds me why all of our miseries happened. Heartbreak is productive. Launching forward, straight into sunlight.

But. Even when they are the same thing, you are not the same girl who saw those things the last time. Not necessarily. How do you want to deal with these same things? Do you want to deal with these same things? Are these same things worth all those things that are so very different?

Look at those patterns all you want.

But at the end of the day, what I remember is the way our eyes open at the same time on accident. And I remember we're people. That you're you. And that no matter how much I expect/want you to disappoint me, you want my radiance more than I want that hurt.

There's a first time for every thing.

Sometimes, when things look really different, but you have a feeling they might really be the same, look closer. They might just be the same. Over and over and over and over again.

this sucks.

It's actually weird how much I love managing my money, paying my bills, organizing my various savings accounts. Collectively, I'm in about $20,000 in debt (eff student loan interest. For seriously.) but it's healthy debt and I don't worry about it too much. If I were to (God forbid) lose my job tomorrow, I'd have at least a teeensy bit of squish room and that's exciting to me. If you know me at all, you know I'm notorious for spending money... and when I was younger, I was the notoriously irresponsible one who somehow had two jobs at all times and never had a dime to her name, always borrowing from the Bank of Britta and taking out Mommy loans. I've come a long way.

It's scary to me to look at my student loan repayment and feel like even paying twice as fast as scheduled, the number is somehow allowed to keep growing. It's a weird monster in my life, but one that I am living with, accepting of. Although I have my fair share of opinions on academia and financial aid now that I'm out of college, I can't change that I owe the government this much money and I wouldn't, considering it was all for fantastic explorations and magical misadventures. What I can do is have a positive attitude about it.

I work very hard at my job, five days a week. I'm extremely dedicated to it and I love it, would not want to leave for anything at this moment in my life. I love it. I felt that there were moments in the last few months where money would get tight--- by that I mean, I'd have money to cover small things but I found myself transferring out of my savings and this and that, which defeats the purpose of the savings, and it just started to bum me out. I started babysitting one day every other week and that tiny addition to my funds, while not necessary, is helpful, and comforting. Maybe this blog should be more about how I taught myself to manage my money, but for now, I'm just reflecting on how I turned this thing that used to be such an awful demon in my life into something fun and thrilling. The most important thing for me was setting small goals, ones that were both attainable and more fitting to who I am, not just what I had to pay for.

Yay!

Valentine's Day is for....

Me: So, are you looking for a gift for your Valentine?

Rando guy shopping alone in an all pink store: I don't celebrate Valentine's day.

Me: That's because you're single.

Rando guy: I actually hate you.

Such a sassy moment! Whoa, baby. You know... it's totes cool if you don't dig Valentine's Day. It IS a dumb greeting card holiday that encourages overeating of sugary snacks in already overweight spoiled children all over the place. It creates a lot of unnecessary pressure to buy people things they aren't ready to receive and it reminds me, personally, of a whole lot of disappointment. But... like Thanksgiving, a holiday which I think is completely stupid, I'm going to go ahead and give out a KAUG "Holla" for any day that celebrates something as completely fantastic and awesome as love, courtship, mating. I'm the kinda girl that tries to show people I care year round and I don't want anything from anyone on that day of all the days of the year. But I'm going to go ahead and say I love love, I love falling in love, I love when I am in love, and I dig that there is a special day to say hey lovers. Just, for the record, more than half of Valentine's day cards are passed between family members, which I think is a beautiful thing. I get that you don't necessarily recognize this day as an important calendar holiday, but, you know, I just love having something to look forward to, having these small things throughout the year that I can mark it by. I don't know if I "celebrate" this "holiday," but I know that there are a lot of people who will be getting cards from me on February 14th and I guarantee the back room of Jest Jewels will be flooded with candy and cookies and magic. And my nail polish will probably be... pink. Whatevskies.

Point is, I was kidding. And I like sending mail. And I hope somebody tells you they love you on February 14th, Valentine's day or just another Tuesday in February, whether you get candy or not.

Xoxo.

Is it pathetic that this song still makes me cry?

I remember a few years ago when Seth Lanier lived in Colorado still, I sent him a copy of Bob Dylan's Live 1975 (Bootleg Series Vol. 5) - I am thinking of this because that version of Mr. Tambourine Man just played on Pandora. And I remember he posted a myspace bulletin about getting that in the mail. I loved that. Because I love attention, maybe, but because I love knowing that my instincts are right, that my dear friend would appreciate that specific collection of jams delivered in the very strange way I delivered it, definitely. And I'm happy to know that even thought I don't reserve the same time to send that same kind of ridiculous mail, I still do, from time to time, send those messages into the universe that are pretty on-point when people need them. I think that's important to consider. I do wish I knew how to set more time aside to do that. I was also crazier then, and in a time of mania. I needed to talk to anyone who wasn't around. I needed to explode. It's easier when people aren't close--- they won't judge you as much from far away. Something like that.

I worry about the people I miss, worry about them knowing that I do miss them. It's hard to keep yourself afloat with so much worry. It all just feels like selfishness. It feels mostly like I can't explain myself. Why don't you just get my brain messages? Why is that the best I can do?

Anyway, today I didn't have much to say. I was uncomfortable all day, not upset or anything. I just felt strange, like a weirdo, like I just wanted to sit at home with my dad on the brown couch and think of nothing. But I couldn't think of nothing. All I could do was actively feel uncomfortable and worried.

But then I hear that beautiful damn song. "Play a song for me." And I feel so good humming along to my favorite lyrics. And I know my dad's already sitting next to me on the couch in my brain, no big deal. And I think about the way we spend time with people who aren't around. And it's not projections or mental instability--- it's the spirit! It's beautiful communication in the mystical realm. It's believing and knowing and experiencing and refusing to judge your own self, even for just a moment. I love that music is often this signal in my life, reminding me that we're all in this together, and reminding me so often that I'm okay on my own, too. This doesn't have to make sense to anyone else, because I'm just writing this time for myself, giving myself a little something to sing along to.

And now, Me and Bobby McGee. A song I will always hear through my mother's voice in Swedish. Amazing. So good. Good night.

How do I keep getting fatter and skinnier at the same time?

We all have our little secrets.

"Can I tell you a secret?" inked quiet on a blue sticky note, delivered safely to my mailbox... inside, full of music and sound, that fleeting joy I've been holding desperately onto for a month now, trying to believe that this is actually happening, that you might actually be here, that this might really be different... trying not to run the other direction... let the music quiet me. Then you sent me this music, for real, and I'm quiet. And in this quiet is something magnificent. In this quiet, I'm telling you. This is what I fall asleep to.

Butterflies and noise... the way it looks like my ceiling never ends in the darkness, like it goes straight up to the sky it's so tall. I fall asleep to the song of myself. Stopped playing that list that I love, but, God, it just haunts me now. I fall asleep to blankets and Maxie and chimes and carousels and, sometimes, tears. I fall asleep to words and laughter and people, but always just myself. In this quiet, there are a million mes with a million yous and the part of that one Decemberists song and your voice, now, singing me to sleep. That's what I fall asleep to... I fall asleep to hope, to forgiveness, to prayer. I never make it to the "Amen." I fall asleep to chance, to "maybe tomorrow," to another go, to not letting go. Sorry after sadness after mania after depression after joy after chaos after colors after travel after homelessness after hot breath on car windows and sitting alone. Solitude. Missing you. Missing somebody I don't know how I know so well so fast. Missing lines and curves and circles and always depth. I'm not sure if I know how to do this. Nothing is happening. I'm not lying when I say this. Nothing is happening. But, at the same time, there is something being written between the lines I'm not bold enough to write, something collapsing and rebuilding before I even knew there were blueprints, letters, cliches, and that ever present sinking feeling that I don't know how to do this.

What I fall asleep to is infinite possibility, and the song of you. Because even if I don't know how, I promise, for you, I'll try.