Change

Change terrifies me more than you could ever know. Mom is having the house painted--the painter is here as I write this--and I'm scared that this beautiful little home, which has taken care of me the last year, will be unhappy with its new color. I'm scared that Mom will hate the color and we'll have to come home everyday to not-quite-right. Then again, change is exciting....The house will look spiffy and bright and fresh! She'll be happy with the new paint and everyone can breathe! Usually I have a clear idea of what I want to write when I sit down, but today this is just a rambling post, a not-sure-post, a kinda sad post. But I'm not sad. Not really. I'm going on my second date today with S, and this makes me happy. Kissing someone different is so strange. Making sure you two fit together. And for the first time in a long time I don't feel scarred around a man....not that any man over the last year has made me feel scarred, but it's my internal mushy stuff that's scarred me. My own fear of being let down again. Of someone hurting me. Of hurting myself. Of letting myself down. One of the great thing about S, about meeting him, is that I feel both thrilled and relaxed, comfortable and confident. I can't wait to see him -- but I also am not putting anything on the line. My Nathan heart-speak is engaging in good dialogue. Speaking of heart-speak, I met Leslie on Thursday. She heads up the part of New Columbia where I'll be faciliting the creative writing workshop for adults living in low-income housing. Leslie and I had crackling energy together. She gave me a big hug and said I gave good heart-speak. I hugged her back tightly and didn't pat-pat-pat. I squeezed tight. I love my new job. I love the residents, their stories, their wrinkly faces and sometimes-there-sometimes-not memories, the way they smile at me and say I'm handsome and call me sweetheart. I feel connected to their souls; I love my coworkers, their gutsy down-to-earth energy, their ability to dive into a task and complete it with love and compassion. So much change. A week of painting and training at the new job at Volunteers of America and kissing and writing and reading and watching Veronica Mars Season 2. (I LOVE Veronica! I'm kinda in love with her. And Logan gives good lust-speak. I want to lick his chest! He had this line where he bumps into Veronica outside a hotel room and says, "If the best part is the cuddling afterwards, he's not doing something right." Wow. Yum. Keep on lust-speakin', Logan!) I've been focusing on people's jewelry lately, their lovely gaudy necklaces and dangly earrings, their imperfect flesh. I love imperfections -- those crooked teeth and that scar through that lip. God and I have been grooving lately. Our home is sound. I want my mother to feel at peace and have sweet dreams and sleep soundly at night. I burn incense called "Shaman" and "Nightspell" in hopes it clears yucky energy and makes swirly changes. Change. Damn. I love it and hate it. My OCD doesn't know whether to shout or smile. I've been writing fragments of poems lately--a long time since I've done this -- and I'm recapturing these little pieces of forbidden childhood places. And lighthouses. I'm thinking about Karin's lighthouses, and Mum's lighthouses, how their music transports me into chaotic places where my muse throws thousands of darts at me at the same time and I have to sift and sort and let the filaments of light make their way into my story in natural progressions. I'm trying to be okay with Mystery. I'm not there yet, but fuck I'm trying.

p.s. Thanks to K-Boi for being one of my ultimate healing forces this past year. I am blessed with so many wonderful people in my life!