Love Won the World Over

Now is a great time for me to find out about the potential risk for gallstones with the high-dose of antibiotics I’m on. Of course they told me but I obviously forgot, so when they took me in to have an ultrasound today, I was surprised and happy to be told I don’t have gallstones. Phew. I mean just one more think to go wrong right?

I have to have ultrasounds once a month! And blood draws every two weeks! Seriously, ever time they draw blood, I want to cry something like ‘Do you know how much it cost to put all that stuff in me and you’re just taking it out?’ Honestly, with the combination of painkillers, antibiotics, and a shit-load of vitamins, they could SELL my blood for a premium price. If I gave blood, the person who got the transfusion would get a healthy amount of drugs…a ‘lil boost. 
I also had my dressings changed on my IV which is always nice ’cause it feels all clean and, you know, it always looks better when there isn’t a little bit of dried blood caked around it. Nice, I know. I really am trying to work on my adjectives, so that when doctors or friends ask the classic ‘how are you’  or ‘what is the problem today’ or something else that I’d really rather not be asked,  I have a wonderful arsenal of words, as to sound cold and totally pissed off that they asked. Not really, but sometimes I feel like that. I felt in the first few appointments, that they were honest to God trying to get blood out of a rock for all the words I could come up with. I thought I’d better practice in my mind so next time, I don’t have to stumble through “bad” and “painful” or “icky” and really use some kick-ass words.
It comes to mind that, beyond the pain and general sick feelings, I feel deep down a sadness. That I’m here and you’re there. That I’m stuck here and you’re still there. And that this TOTALLY is taking an inordinate amount of time. This ’empty’ feeling hits me often and makes me feel that I love you guys an infinite times the world over. 
This feeling, of being lost, and stuck, and lonely, and sad, and overwhelmed, is by far, the deepest, worst, intolerable agony of all. 

It’s so hard to wrap my head around…

I flat out just want to be home. I would give up on this (so easily) to be home and laugh on the beach and just get a hug and kiss. I want to be real and keep it real. I want to leave go of it all and just walk out on something that’s so wrapped around me that I just can shake it loose, not even dancing hardcore. 

I want to go AWOL.
I want to run.
It would be a relief.  
But I can’t just run away with a problem, because I’ve found that they somehow pack it up into your suitcase too and your in a new place with the same problems. You must fix the problem and change your mind or the problem will just follow you to the ends of the earth. 
I am being stalked. By something the majority of the people do not believe exist. Or not at least the way I’ve got it. And that is scary.
You should be scared. As cliche as it sounds, it could be you next. And you would have to face a world of doctors who dismiss you and make you out to be insane or suffering from something completely archaic. You’re alone and your up against an institution that is so well regarded. Generally. 
There is more Lyme cases than AIDS. 
I cannot give blood if I have AIDS or other infectious diseases, but I could be sicker than hell and walk into the Red Cross and pull up my left sleeve and say, “Go for it…oh and by the way, in case you want to know why the wheelchair and IV in the left crook of my arm, I have Lyme. My list of symptoms would blow you away and take a page and a bit of your paper there. But no worries, right? I can give blood, although I have an infectious, horrible disease that is transferrable via blood….oh like AID’s or it’s cousin syphilis. Right. But its cool. You are a non believer. And just like the Christians think, you will be proved wrong on judgement day or sooner.” 
Where did the medical take a turn and stop helping people? People like me who a falling downhill faster than those Olympic skiiers. Where did we go wrong? 
But more importantly, how are we gonna get back to good?

To Fall and Get Up

I fell. 
Just now I thought I could walk to the bathroom myself, less than 6 yards away, versus get up, get into the chair and go. And then repeated in reverse. I got about a few steps and I got that hot feeling. Like you’re embarrassed and you feel the heat creeping up your neck into your cheeks. The world looks like somebody stuck it in the blender and slowly swirled it up. I’m a small boat on a rough ocean, swaying, swaying, swaying into blackness. Until, I become aware that my body is against something rough, something very solid and I find myself even with the horizon. It takes a few heart beats until the pain kicks in.
I am in such intense pain that the slightest brush of a hand or a gentle hug makes me faint from agony. You can imagine how a fall from 5’7 and 3/4 would feel.
But you move on.
Or in my case you forget. Its so hard to hold a grudge these days, let me tell you…

But that’s how you do it. You just keep picking yourself up off of the floor and moving along again. That’s the only way to move is to move forward.

Heart Broken: Girl Loses First Love

My favorite part of fall and winter is the fashion. The only saving grace from the cold is the nice neutral earth tones, sweaters and of course boots!

Today I donned booties and grabbed a few sweaters. Today’s goal: ‘West Rock National Park’. It looks like Australia’s red rocks to me and looms over the city of New Haven. It’s stunning and you can see for miles and miles around, even to the distant ocean if you can believe it. 
It’s been awhile since I’ve been able to see so far ahead. It’s been so long since I could see the ‘whole’ of something with few missing parts. All around, each beautiful tree screaming color louder than the rest. 
I now have a fear of nature, of grass and even those beautiful yellow maples and the hills and valleys. I was the little child of San Francisco, begging her daddy to take her to Point Reyes, the park or another outdoor destination. I was the child who wildly ran with her friend down the dirt path, down a mountain, screaming. I was the girl lying in the grass, hiking all over East Sooke, playing all over the mossy rocks, following the same paths deer took, picking wild blackberries and running through high grass.
I was that girl. She loved nature.
She was clueless.
That same girl now sits in the car at stunning national parks and tells everyone in the car not to get out and explore. She’s the girl who rolls down the window to take a picture, not the same one who would like to get down on her belly on the path to shoot up at the trees, the sun falling in.
I don’t know where that girl went. Somewhere between the cold winter where she first got sick, to when she couldn’t walk, to when she found out what made her sick, she lost her first love. It’ll be hard to find a replacement for the beauty of the world around her. 

To Cry Wolf

I’m going to tell you a story. It may be faintly familiar from some distant children’s fable, but I can assure you that it ends like no childrens story ought to, and it has a different moral…a very different message in a very true story. 

Once upon a time there was a little sheep. She lived in a small valley suburb with a flock of loving sheep. Each day, the little sheep would walk away from her neighborhood flock and into the city to be taught the ways of the world. With time, she found herself another flock of closest friends and grew to love them very deeply. Each day the little sheep would take the same path to and from the city, hardly ever diverting (unless there was the temptation of a nice patch of grass a little out of her regular walking path). But as the little sheep grew older, she began to explore much of the city she lived so close to and soon knew it like the back of her hoof. She could help tourists find their way and bray with laughter with her friends as they walked around the city during their free time, enjoying life. Her memories of the city she was in everyday were strong and the little sheep was confident in her directional skills. The irony was to become all to apparent.
The little sheep grew and grew and soon was visiting the city during lunch break with her friends. She walked to the gas station, to the Demi Tasse up the street, to the park and sometimes went to a grocery store to pick up a treat. One day, something was not right. The little sheep, daydreaming, wandered away from her flock and was going to meet up with them at their usual spot. The little sheep confidently walked along, treading the familiar paths until…she realized these paths weren’t familiar at all. Why she hadn’t been here before at all. Or so the little sheep thought until she really looked around. Something in the back of her mind told her that she knew this place deep down, but she was befuddled and confused as to why this old yet unfamiliar street corner befuddled and confused her! She pushed these thoughts deep into her pockets and turned around and tried to walk home. She stumbled around for the whole hour of lunch, confused. She knew where she was but the knowledge was somehow blocked from her mind. The little sheep was scared and tried to psych herself up by saying that she wasn’t insane or anything, just a daydreamer and that sort of thing happened to daydreamers from  time to time. The sheep didn’t tell her flock of friends or family what had happened.
She didn’t cry ‘WOLF’ because she was afraid of the consequence of having screamed there was a  ‘wolf’ when really it wasn’t; just a big misunderstanding. She didn’t want to make waves so she let it go.
She thought that it was a one time deal. It wouldn’t happen again.
But over the next few months, the little sheep got lost in her beloved city many times. She would arrive somewhere, not know how she got there and on top of that she would have no clue where she was. It took awhile and alot of questions to re-orientate herself before finding the right way. She was slightly unnerved but not yet willing to cry ‘wolf’ until she was certain there was a problem. She had been taught that even though you might see something coming, that didn’t mean you should take preventative measures!
That same sorry sheep wandered away from her flock without any recollection of doing such. She felt nauseous constantly, inattentive in lessons which was peculiar for such a previously studious sheep, very tired (even though she walked very little, for a sheep), she was confused often, forgot conversations mid-sentence and felt the beginnings of a dull pain. Yet the little sheep was not quite ready to yell ‘wolf’, although at that time, she had no idea of the huge wolf that lurked ahead. 
That little sheep saw so many doctors she lost count. About 10, counting walk-in’s and specialists and ER doc’s. She heard so many rumors about what she might have, but nothing concrete. The poor little sheep had so much blood taken, that she must have thought a vampire had sucked the lifeblood right out of her. She was thought to be crazy one week, anorexic the next, depressed the following and chronic fatigued after that. The doctors threw out ridiculous problems and kept passing the little sheep amongst a circle of different doctors, like teens smoking a bowl with friends. 
Finally the little sheep was so sick and her flock so angry at the medical systems failure, they took her to a neighboring country to help her.
And now, where can you find the little sheep. 
That same little sheep, who used to run and skip with her friends and laugh and drink bubble tea on hot days and make weird jokes and play music and laugh some more, that little sheep who lived so happily, was not finding her ‘ever after’. That poor little sheep couldn’t walk, every joint ached in the worst way, she had the worst insomnia and hallucinations, had excruciating pain all over her body that was a thousand times worse than she would have thought and had no memory. Her mind was a blank slate being wiped ever few minutes. She had nothing that she used to. Now this is one unhappy little sheep.
What was wrong with this sheep? What was wrong was no one cried ‘wolf’. Because she passed it off as daydreaming, because the doctors couldn’t figure it out, and because the whole country was ignorant. No one cried ‘wolf’ because no one knew why they should startle a village, because they had nothing conclusive. They couldn’t find the little sheeps’ wolf. So they let the wolf eat her. The wolf ate her alive because no one was aware of the fact that this sick little sheep was harboring a more dangerous kind of ‘wolf’, a ‘super wolf’, that when it arrived could hurt much more sneakily than a real wolf . And the most dangerous part about the ‘super wolf’ was that he wasn’t it a poor imitation in sheep skins, he wore a cloak of invisibility and could come and go as he pleased and never drew attention to himself.
Lyme is the worst kind of wolf. He is silent and deadly and knows what he’s doing. And the villagers who fled up the hill at the boys cry of ‘SUPER WOLF’ were tired of there being no wolf. They didn’t understand the cloak of invisibility and lies.
The little sheep hurt so much because of a lack of knowledge. 
Curiosity killed the cat.  
Ignorance tried to kill the sheep. 
It tried.
So cry wolf, when your gut says yell, on the off-chance that there is a monster looming over your flock.
“Creating a new theory is not like destroying an old barn and erecting a skyscraper in its place. It is rather like climbing a mountain, gaining new and wider views, discovering unexpected connections between our starting points and its rich environment. But the point from which we started out still exists and can be seen, although it appears smaller and forms a tiny part of our broad view gained by the mastery of the obstacles on our adventurous way up.” – Albert Einstein

Story to Nowhere

It went something like this.

Honestly, I had just shut my eyes and slept for half and hour when my mom was rushing me to get up. 8:00. Prompt. Some asshole decided to test the fire alarms at 9 in the effin morning. I mean really. There are so many college kids here. Now pissed college kids I’m sure. They told us in advance which is nice, as last time they didn’t and I was way more pissed. We went out for breakfast which makes a nice change of scenery. I need that every now and then, to keep me sane. Or to keep me from becoming more insane. Either way, it doesn’t matter whether I sit in a chair all day and watch movies and try and read or go out and live a little. I feel the same really. Maybe a little more tired, a little more sore, but at least I feel like I’m not letting this get to me. 
I like that. Feeling in control. 
I am determined to not let this get to me. I’m  determined not to be run-over by Lyme again and again. I don’t want to bend my life around the fact that some damn tick took a ‘lil nibble.
It’s nice to let myself forget that I’m sick…that I’m so dependent now on the people I love. 
I try and forget, but when my mom hands me a Dixie cup full of pills, it all comes rushing back. Rather quickly. It’s strange what the prospect of a meal of pills can do to someone. I have a aquarium patterned cup sitting in the crook of my arm and when I move, I’m reminded that I could start a pharmacy. Its a nice rattle. Like gold clanking in pockets, or the sound a diamond makes when it slides across the table, or that horrible sound of expensive glass shattering, the pills sounded expensive. It was their cost, their true ‘cost’ on me though that would make them priceless. I hear that in less flowery words. 
I have lately been hearing things in a lot less flowery words.
But it seems that this extended story of my day has only ended up in the same place that it has ended everyday. In the same ways. Me shakily picking up a fork and eating dinner voraciously, all the while thinking I’m about to toss it back up. (I have a weakness for nausea and through all this I haven’t learned to ignore it properly if you can believe it!) With me rushing through a few chapters of a book or minutes of a movie before it’s time for my IV. Then during the IV wait time, sitting gingerly in a chair, giving my left arm the cold shoulder in vain, usually watching a movie or talking. Then, and this is the worst part of all, I go to bed. Or a least I sit up, sometimes close to 8 hours, waiting for sleep to come and the hallucinations and pain to go away. I wait in vain. So I think the time away.
Or I think, then time takes it away.

Spankin’ Newness

Life never ceases to wonder. Endless, soul-stretching, energized life. Every new step in any direction presents new discoveries, memories  and burdens. But at the end of the day, just like Anne of Green Gables said best “isn’t it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?” That is the truest wonder of ’em all. 
On a different note…
I am so fed up with all this crap. 
   I have a new appreciation the ordinary.
   And predictability. I just love predictability. There is great comfort in organization and order. Something to count on. Estimation is so last week. 
I love knowing.
Don’t we all…

I feel like the little engine that could, chugga-chugga-chugging up the hill. Passing over a regular hill on an average day but it still takes a shit load of will and power to make it to the next. Still in the back of my mind, I wonder when I will be confronted with mountains. But thats tomorrow.

I digress…

Its been a beautiful week in the neighborhood. Really, it has. Its been patchily sunny but the leaves have begun to change into their fall getup which you would be hard pressed to find someone who didn’t love it. I love things with tons of color to overload my senses, like a mall or a peek in a box of crayons. Or fall leaves. Spaghetti sauces have been made, recordly piercing fire alarms have gone off,museums have been prowled and aunties have laughed and left on a jet planes. It has been some exciting times here in the big city.
Oh! Right and silly me. I left out a little something.
There is the matter of the coffee stir straw sticking out of my arm. Of course. That.
The picc-line. Its an IV with sense of humor and style of Picasso. We’re charmed to have met. I know very deep down that it is in me to HELP but there is that strange little urge in us all – like the urge to throw cream pies at friends or whip a boomerang – that makes me want to rip that damn thing out of my arm. The thought really grosses me out. 
I would use words such as ‘tender’ and ‘icky’ or ‘blackish purple’, ‘coffee straw’ or ‘backstabbing helper’ to describe it. 
In little laymans terms, it basically is a permanent IV that happily sits in the inside of my arm, above my elbow. A little thread runs up the vein and up almost to my heart. Getting the medicine is like using an iPod: plug in earphones, turn it on and you’re good to go. I will probably never look at an iPod in the same way now that I’ve thought of it like that. 
The part that I try to bear in mind is that this is the first step. From now on, it’s like I’m doing something proactive to get myself better. I try to think of it like this, because as it has to get worse before it ‘clears up’, it certainly doesn’t feel like it. It needs some time. And love. 
We’re working on it. I SO wanna get back. To get there.
I can’t wait to get back to verb-ing again. 
I certainly have been perfecting a few verbs. I can conjugate them in a few languages. I have great practice. And patience.
Je wait
Tu waits
Il waits
Elle waits
Nous wait
Ils wait
Elles wait
Yo breathe
Tu breathes
El breathes
Ella breathes
Nosotros breathe
Usteds breathe
io think
tu thinks
lui thinks
lei thinks
noi think
voi think
loro think
I’m working on the rest of my verb list
Verb-ing : definition-> the act of living with motion and integrity.

Shooting Stars

Shooting star. Fallen angels. I like the idea. I grew up in a city, a loud city, and like all cities, they could always use a little more love. A lot more angels.

I’ve seen one shooting star. One. Not in a city where you can’t see the stars for the lights, but in little East Sooke. I witnessed an angel falling from heaven! I know exactly where that angel fell. When the star hit the earth, it shattered into many pieces and the pieces landed in the hearts of many beautiful people.
I have never met an angel before. I would have said that a year ago. I would have said I didn’t believe in the basic goodness of people. Everyone lied, cheated and stole anything you let near them. At least I thought they did.
And then…and then I got sick. And suddenly found myself in the playground of heavens’ fallen children. I am speaking of course of Nancy and Phil Smith. My aunt and uncle.  
My disbelief in angels ironically bit me back. I was a blood relative to the purest angels I’ve ever met. George Elliot wrote, “the golden moments in the stream of life rush past us and we see nothing but sand;the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone.”
Nancy flew out to help out her twin (my mom) and me with every day things. She acted like it was the only course of action. She became mom 2. I can’t put into words how much she saved my mind. That sounds weird, but sunny angels can be like that. When they laugh, it’s infectious. Their concern feels genuine. Selfless. I was proved wrong as soon as Nancy entered our home.
It wasn’t just coming here that shocked me. I was in for an even greater shock when she followed us to Seattle for the first, rough leg of the trip. She was there, with smiles, laughter, soup and crackers for me and for the soul. She played canasta with me and other games! It made my gradually slimming horizons open up a little more, letting me plan games. Nancy’s uplifting stories brought hope. I was more thankful than ever before. 
The Seattle ‘jaunt’ was only a first of lengthy trips. Being unable to fly due to my illness, angels, displaying wondrous driving skills, sped us to California. 
  I had Phil, angel of love, laughter, smiles, good hugs, wisdom, honesty. 
  I had Nancy, angel of love, laughter, smiles, canasta, warmth, stories and wonder. 
  I had Dad, angel of love, bear hugs, 6:30 am music acceptance, cooking, surprises and laughter.   And I had Mom, angel of love, affection, emotions, midnight snacks, laughter, goodness and desserts. 
They all are angels of what I have become. 
They stuck with me. Incredibly. Even with pain when I lashed out with my tongue and weak arms. They stuck with me. Shockingly. Even when all I ate was Phad Thai and curry which I’m sure they will never touch again.  They stuck with me. Wonderfully. Even when I bugged the hell out of them or got angry or gave up or freaked out or lost myself. 
Because that’s what angels do. They stick with you. They help you work it out. “Angels have no philosophy but love.” (Adeline Cullen Ray)
Angels drive you from the Bay Area, California to little New Haven, Connecticut in order for you to get the help you need, even when you don’t want it. They stay at strange and ‘funky’ hotels to keep you going, let you order pay-per-view new movie releases when you can’t go to the theater, let you be picky about food, let you freak out and cry when you want to and yet they always love you in the end. They hug you. they pick you back up. Again and again and yet again when you think that they’re arms are tired from all the lifting they do of you. 
Angels stick with you for months, far beyond their heavenly call of duty. Nancy has been here for how many months and still is funny and has a contagious laugh and lets me joke with her and play games and feeds me breakfast in bed when I need the pep and still loves me. They still love me. 
Angels stick to you. Angels believe in you. My parents do. Not in so many words but I feel it. They brought me here. I fought, kicking and screaming. I dug my claws in, but they wrenched me here. Thank goodness. Glad they didn’t listen to the silly rumblings of an angry teen. They do more than I ever thought possible. I owe them all the gratitude and love my heart can hold. They’ve given me all the hope I can hold and still give me more. You can’t do more than what you do. Know that that is the truth. 
I need their love to hold me up. Angels are so strong in their hearts. Steady and emotional.  
In a city full of unsung angels, we need only look close by to see them. They wait for the chance to act. They have integrity and love like nothing I’ve seen. For angel-wanna-bees, you need only reach out a hand to find yourself one. 
Thank you angels. What more can I say? “Friends are angels who lift us to our feet when our wings have trouble remembering how to fly.” 
Stick around, please. I could use some more flight lessons…

Poolside Lessons

Isn’t it just another day in paradise? I could hardly agree. Paradise is soo lost right now. Milton and I know only too well. 

Welcome to my today, tomorrow, now and yesterday.

Wake, eat, sleep, repeat. The rest of the details are a little shaky to say the least. Its rather odd living for the past 5 minutes. For me I’m still in June, practically sitting outside myself. Actually, yesterday (to me), I was in ER with a high fever, not knowing what I was sick with. I would expect to find the fresh IV and needle scars in my arm, but this is almost October not June, the warm summer has been traded for cool breezes, deepening red leaves, and the occasional temptation of warmth and humidity in the air. 
Not going to lie, but today is not exactly my best of days. It feels like a truck with endless tires ran me down with a vengeance. I feel like at least my ribs are cracked, or broken, but they’re fine. My joints are SO swollen when I close my eyes, but on closer inspection they look normal. I know something is eating through me steadily, but have just not breached the surface. I feel almost positive that there will be nothing left in me for scans and tests ‘cept a heart that is still trudging on. Everyone keeps urging it on with love and hope. I follow suit and eat hope for breakfast. And snacks. Frequent snacks. 
I’m not meaning to sound cold or whiny. I’m so fed up. And so let down. I am loosing more faith in the health institution day by day. A little more knowledge, a little less pride and some insane luck and I could be back home, visiting my friends when I wanted a cheer-up. Who knows if I would have been on my way to recovery a full 6 months or so ago had I been diagnosed. Who really knows? I’m not sure of anything. 
I would settle for a mundane existence right now. I want to go to the mall and drink bubble tea and laugh. I want the freedom to do what I will. I would settle for walking. I love these legs and they ain’t working so hard no more. And I’m pissed. And so ready for a stroll through the park one day. 
Martin Luther King wrote in 1963 that “The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” Where do I stand? I’m not exactly living it up, but standing in the murky waters of Lyme where it is both a challenge to live with and a controversy to be able to be treated to live without it. I live in a tidal pool of confusion, pulled across continents and into different medical offices and constantly swimming, not sinking. Good thing too, cause I’m not as good as I might be on surviving underwater. 
I swim. I swum. I’m swimming. I will be swimming. For a long time.
PS: Thank you to all those who throw me a lifesaver when I go overboard and fish me back out from the deep constantly. You pick me up selflessly and I don’t deserve that kind of love. But know I love you more in return. Keep fishing. When I get better, I will swim with you. 
“What makes the desert beautiful is that somewhere it hides a well.”
~ Antoine de Saint-Exupery  ~

Hope for the Fall

I know that its a little early to make a list of the things that we are thankful for, but looking at all the colored leaves all over the place reminds me of Thanksgiving-being close to Plymouth Rock helps a bit to get me in the mood, I suppose. But since I have learned to appreciate each day as it comes, each moment as I live it and each memory that passes my mind by, I realize that I have so much good. Almost enough to keep the bad away. Just almost, but it’s always there to keep me oh so ‘grounded’, painfully so.

Each day I greet with a sigh of annoyance and frustration like everyone else. I don’t have to get up to an alarm so that means that when I wake, the only person I generally have to blame is myself and somehow hitting a barren dressing table, searching for the snooze button doesn’t help me fall deeper asleep for that stolen 20 minutes. Outside it’s beautiful but to me it doesn’t come through my window pane, it falls just short of where it should, like heavy expectations. Perhaps it appears that this would fit under my list of growing ironic curses, but I have come to believe (after it has been droned into my head thousands of times) that waking up in the morning, though it is a continuation of my suffering, it will lead to a better kind of end. The end of this disease. It will also lead to the stage of my life which I will call the “activist” stage. To make change I gotta get out of this hole first. 
I am thankful for narcotics, and mothers and aunts to comfort you, I’m thankful for weather which always mixes up my day nicely. I am eternally grateful for ladders which continue to be lowered into the deeper and deeper holes that Lyme is burying me in. I know that later, as the pain becomes and dull ache and then a distant memory, I will be thankful for life. For the fact that I can sit by my window and watch the world fly by, that I can feel a wind lift me up and laughter shake my bones again. 
Forgive the poeticism but this is the honest truth. I could never construct a lie about this when the truth is as beautiful as it is. 
Beautiful things. That’s another that makes it worth it. I’m looking out of angry eyes and a little color and life always brightens me up. In stores, I reach out for brightly colored things; coats, shirts, hair scrunchii’s, pencil crayons, photographs…anything that catches my eye become the apple of it. I’m thankful for the ‘God’ or sweet technicolor-light-science which made this ‘color’ exist. I live for it. I breathe it. And makeup, in lurid colors. It makes me feel like I’m with my friend in a drugstore, browsing the isles, looking for new stuff or cool stuff on shopping trips to the downtown Victoria. 
And my goodness, thank goodness for books! Its always nice to loose myself in someone else’s mind and life for awhile and escape mine. And my am I glad to have some fun games around and wonderfully silly people to play them with.
But above all, I cling to one ideal, like so many others.
Not just my hope, which I am a little low on at the moment, but the loving, sweet warm glow of the hope of loved ones. It is the rock I cling to as I’m hanging off the cliff. It sounds cheesy but it is you guys, my friends and family who I laugh with (or at-its kind of a sketchy topic) and cry with and dance with and sing with and share most of my ‘finest’ moments with and live with and for. You have no idea how much I love and respect you. You define me. And keep me breathing. I am indebted to you. I never realized how much I value and rely on your love until now. I’m glad and most thankful for you guys. Thank you. What more can I say that hasn’t been said a hundred times. 
I think of you guys all the time. I see you everywhere. In everything. Its strange. You are timeless and have spread your love out so far, it reaches me here. 
I am thankful.
So thankful.
It makes me want to wear fall colors and wax press big leaves and walk outside and feel the breeze in my hair. 
But I have proved that thankfulness isn’t just a onetime shot.
We shouldn’t take care of the earth just on Earth Day, love solely on Valentines day, celebrate life just on a birthday and death on the Day of the Dead, make jokes only on April Fools and eat mini chocolates and be free on Halloween. 
Everyday is a holiday. An adventure, both good and bad. And to me that is worth living for. Worth waking up and drifting off to sleep knowing that I have hope, and more things to be thankful for tomorrow.
Thank you. 
I am so thankful.

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