Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Jeff Buckley

May 29, 1997
Memphis, Tennessee
Jeff Buckley drowned while singing "Whole Lotta Love" in the Wolf River.

If you guys think I have it bad for Jeremy Enigk, you have no idea the depths of my love for Jeff Buckley. I listened to him straight, as in no other music at all, for three years. Yeah, I get that I come off sounding like a total psycho when I say that, but when have I ever cared about that? It was the right music at the time. Hit that emotional chord just so. I still love him. Can't believe that his library is so finite.

I was talking about the idea of knowing the other day (I say talking and I get that all this has been written, but I imagine you are hearing me say this to you rather than just reading it... actually, I wish I could voice record these things...), and here's what I've always wondered. Let me know if I'm not alone. Have you ever paid attention to the lyrics in "So Real"? "And I couldn't awake from the nightmare that sucked me in and pulled me under." I think about this line and I wonder if he had an inkling of his death. A premonition. An idea. A feeling.

I could be totally reading into things, sure. But...

Listening to: Jeff Buckley "Sketches For My Sweetheart the Drunk" part 1

xo. kb.


For a Virgo, I'm surprisingly spontaneous. My kids and I take a lot of day trips just because I woke up and decided I didn't want to stay home. Was it last week that we went to Millennium Park? We've gone there, the Art Institute of Chicago, Illinois Beach State Park. Smaller excursions have been to IKEA where we pretend that those rooms are our actual home, and one rainy day we drove to Woodfield Mall (which is something of a creature) and randomly decided to get MG's ears pierced. Yesterday we went to the dunes. Unplanned. And it was awesome. Although the traffic about killed us all. Still, it was great to just pack a bag and bust a move to the beach, spend the day in the sun and sand and surf. Life is so tedious if you let it be. Get up, have breakfast, go to work/school, do the day thing, come home, eat dinner, watch tv or read a book, go to bed.

I think we establish routines in order to keep ourselves so busy we don't have time to think about how unhappy we are in our lives. We build our own constraints.

I did it for a lot of years, was so buried in what I thought my life should look like, this Martha Stewart-inspired and picture-perfect contrived vision. Illusion. God, I was so uptight. And unhappy. I'll never go there again. Life is gray. It has frayed edges. It is worn in and loved. It is lived, not survived. It's taking a day off to read a book start to finish, building an obstacle course in the backyard, eating lunch picnic-style on the living room floor. It's choosing not to make your job your definition, finding your passions and letting them drive you, choosing to make your dream a reality. Recognizing the infinite possibilities. Because they are infinite.

Listening to: Band Of Horses, thinking of The Velveteen Rabbit

xo. kb.

Monday, May 30, 2011

It ain't easy living.

"What is worth having is worth working for." Philip Pullman

My life mantra. I repeat this when I feel bogged-down, when I wonder if I should take an easier route, when I think that things are tough because they are wrong. No. Things are tough because they are right.

Sugar, anger, flat terrain. The simple. Unhealthy. I don't always want it, but give me the complex. Let me digest whole grains, practice compassion, run uphill. Let me feel this burn, this strain. There is pain in growth and I am building strength. I am becoming.

Listening to: Margot & The Nuclear So and So's "Not Animal"

xo. kb.

Sunday, May 29, 2011

My best friend.

I went to a party last night. Not like this wild, raucous party with booze and loud music, but a family birthday party for my best friend Nikki's two youngest daughters. A family party, and my kids and I were invited. Do you know how good that feels? To be thought of as family by your friend?

It felt like family. I helped cook, sat at the table with Grandma, held one of the babies so her mom could eat dinner, played left hand to Nikki's right on piano (our sheet music her childhood lesson book, omg we were in tears and in need of Depends). The kids all ran around like cousins, the big girls devising a play, the boys on Super Mario Bros., the little girls dressing up like princesses. We gathered for a sing-along, Papi playing Beatles tunes on one of the girl's miniature pink guitar, then concluded the night around the fire pit, making s'mores and listening to Nikki's father-in-law tell stories of his trip to Africa. It was the best night I've had in a long time. The kids, too. We needed this.

I'm a firm believer that God puts people in our lives.

I met my best friend Nikki at our kids' bus stop. It wasn't a love at first sight- she was wearing pajamas and I was still wearing post-MG weight. Neither of us were at our cutest, nor looking for a potential friendship. We were harried and trying to get our kids to school. But repeated contact grows relationships, even if just with familiarity. Hello! became How was your weekend? became How are you? became What's your story? and our conversations lasted longer than just getting the kids on the bus. When it turned cold, we started having coffee. It became our morning routine, and it turned into a friendship that is something like soul mates.

I don't know what or how it is you know you can trust a person, but I've known it with Nikki. Innately and without question. Is that chemistry? Divine? It's something, for sure. It's odd, because Nikki and I are so stylistically different. She's a cleaner, I'm an organizer. She listens to dance/pop, I'm an emo/indie girl. She dresses in cute clothes, I, well, I get dressed. She gives in, I stand firm. She's the popular girl and I'm a weirdo. Despite those differences, we're the same. We both believe in something greater than ourselves. We are hopeful. We love our kids intensely. We want to be better people. We want to live life out loud. We're not afraid to look stupid, to sing or dance in front of strangers, or to say something we feel even if it might be intimate. We don't worry about being judged.

Nikki moved a year ago. It was tough not having her down the block, and we worried that it would affect our relationship. Sometimes friendships are built on convenience and separation will cool or divide, but we've grown closer. We've had to make more of an effort, and we've chosen to do so. We've decided to keep each other. I'm so grateful. She's been next to me, supporting me through all the craziness in my life. She watches my kids when I need a break, calls to see how I'm feeling, tells me that all this ugliness is the work I need to do to get to the beautiful part of my life. I believe her. And I would do anything for her.

Right now, that means making her banana cupcakes with cream cheese frosting.

Listening to: BOH, specifically "Neighbor" and the line "There is compassion and depth in the neighbor."

xo. kb.

Saturday, May 28, 2011

My favorite lyrics.

I'm a music girl. I love it. Love the broken chord, climbing/descending arpeggios, love 5/4 time, love the intentional use of dynamics in rock, love the melancholy comfort of E minor, love accidentals. I'm listening to something all day long, and I'm sure if I analyzed my twitter feed, 90% of my tweets are in reference to a song that somehow struck me. Also, I frequently burst out into song and dance, so honestly, that idea of life as a musical is close to my reality.

I love words, too. I love how they can be strung together to capture a moment/thought/feeling so perfectly. Letters on a page that evoke a picture in your mind. Spoken aloud and expressing the very essence of our hearts. Whispered in ears and inducing shivers.

I have a post about my favorite musical moments in songs, but not my favorite lyrical moments. So here goes.

"Maybe that's all that we need, is to be in the middle of impossibility. Standing at opposite poles, equal partners in a mystery." Indigo Girls

"All we want is something more to dream about and to adore. All we need is a little space to close our eyes and end this chase." Sleeping At Last

"We're just a little bit lost inside our houses. We're just a little unkept out in the streets." Mates Of State

"Love brings us to who we need, a place where we can say the heart that beats is both siphon and reservoir." Jeff Buckley

"And every time you feel like crying I'm gonna try and make you laugh. And if I can't, if it just hurts too bad, then we will wait for it to pass and I will keep you company through those days so long and black." Bright Eyes

"Cause in my head there's a greyhound station where I send my thoughts to far off destinations, so they may have a chance of finding a place where they're far more suited than here." Death Cab For Cutie

"We could live for a thousand years, but if I hurt you I'd make wine from your tears." INXS

"Believe in all the good things you keep inside. There is no freedom in life without freedom of mind." The Fire Theft

"Upon us all a little rain must fall. It's just a little rain." Led Zeppelin

"If it's not love then it's the bomb that will bring us together." The Smiths

"And we know who we should love, but we're never certain how. I know you might roll your eyes at this, but I'm so glad that you exist." The Weakerthans

xo. kb.

Friday, May 27, 2011

A brief story.

I walked in the bathroom and MG was crying while brushing her teeth. I gave her a cup of water, had her rinse and spit, then wiped her mouth and picked her up. I carried her into my bedroom and we sat in the rocking chair and rocked while she cried and I held her and kissed her tears. My poor baby.

Then she sat up, grabbed my boobs, and laughed.

We are all of us crazy. And resilient.

"If I am lost it's only for a little while."

Yesterday was bad. An emotionally bad day, my thoughts bleak and despairing. If I my mood was a picture it would be a landscape, a prairie in the dead of winter. No snow, just overcast and frozen ground and cold. And it worsened as the day progressed, like standing out in the cold and taking off layers of clothes. By 10:30 I was spiritually stripped and called the day. Called the next day. Vowed to spend Friday wallowing.

Then I woke up this morning and the sun was shining. The world is green outside my windows. I kinda hate it. Because rainy days expect nothing of you. Of course you stay inside, holed up in a bed, on a couch. Snuggled in a blanket, drinking a mug of something warm. But the sun comes out and it points its finger at you and says, "Do something. Enjoy this day." And I don't always want to. Sometimes I just want to be sad. I want to wrap my misery around me and let it define me, and that feels wrong when the happiness of light is shining through the cracks of the curtains.

I begrudgingly got up to let out the dog and make coffee, and stopped at my computer to check my email. Amid the groupon, gap.com, borders rewards crap was an actual email. From my stepmother. The subject line read: I'm here! And my heart stopped for a moment. It was a long email. Like scroll and scroll and scroll and scroll. And it told me all about what was going on with her, how she'd lost her father a year ago, how her mother had gotten ill and she'd had to move in with her for four months, how she'd gotten into a car accident. All these things I missed. Didn't support her through. And I guess it's mutual, because she's missed all these things in my life and feels just awful about it. But overall, the note was positive. She wants to be in my life. I want her in it, too.

I was so angry with life yesterday. So consumed with discouragement and the injustice of it all. And I said a prayer. Asked for just one good thing to happen, to give me hope that things will be okay.

So now I'm looking at this beautiful sunny day, at that email one more time, and thinking that I've been blessed with two good things. I won't be doing much wallowing today. Life is moving forward, and I'd hate to miss this ride because I'm moping on the couch.

Listening to: Band Of Horses. Probably for a while.

xo. kb.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

A morning prayer.

My favorite mornings happened in the summer at my grandparents' house. My room there was my aunt's old room, upstairs and facing the street. Grandma didn't have a/c upstairs, so the window was always open and the sounds that came in were a kind of morning music. Cars driving past on the cobblestone street, making a slow, pleasant thudthudthudthudthud. The chirps of birds, the coo coo coo of the mourning dove. The air smelled like warm sun, dry, old wood, and mothballs. I would wake, find the cool part in the sheets, and lay in bed just living in the sensory.

When I finally got up, I'd creak down the hall to the bathroom where, right next to the sink, hung a prayer. I read it every morning as I brushed my teeth (with Grandpa's Pepsodent powder toothpaste, such a novelty). It's memorized now, and I can close my eyes and be back in that pink bathroom, with the flickering lights around the mirror, summer sounds drifting through the open windows in the bedrooms and hall.

In the quiet of this morning hour
I come to Thee for peace, for wisdom
power to view the world through love-filled eyes,
to see beyond what seems to be,
Or know Thy children as Thou knowest them
Or so naught but the good in anyone behold
make deaf to my ears all that is unkind,
let only thoughts that bless dwell in my mind.
Let me so kindly be, so full of joy
that all I meet may feel Thy presence near.
Oh, clothe me in Thy beauty, this I pray,
let me reveal Thee, Lord, though all the day.

Listening to: Band Of Horses (alphabetically)

xo. kb.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

A letter I sent.

My dad died two years ago yesterday. It's funny, because I didn't even think about it. I mean, I had a conversation with my brother about the fact that Dad had died on the 24th and my brother said he had set up a notification on his phone, and it didn't even occur to me that it was actually the 24th. Like that date was just some date that would happen in the near future, and all I knew was it was Tuesday and I had to work.

I don't get time very well.

And I kinda hate that I don't remember that date like I remember other dates. My mom died Sept. 16, my grandma Mar. 8, my great uncle, whom I never met, died on Sept. 11, my brother's 12th birthday and four days before I was born. I feel like I'm disrespecting my father by not remembering the exact date, because he totally would have. My dad could conjugate verbs in the Spanish he learned in high school. He remembered people's first and last names and read biographies for fun. He also told the dirtiest jokes I've ever heard, let me drink if I was staying home, swore like a goddamn sailor, and ate all the Halloween candy before the big day. One year we honest to God hid on the kitchen floor from the trick-or-treaters.

I miss him.

So in honor or memory or both of my father, I wrote a long-ass letter to my step-mom. We had a major falling-out after he died and haven't spoken since. I'm not going into all the details here, but will say this: she chose not to have a funeral for my father and respecting that wish has been a real hardship for me. Still, I hate this feeling of ???. I don't know how she's doing, if she's well or ill, if she had to go back to work, if she ever painted the cabinets in her kitchen. And she doesn't know anything about the kids that I know she loved (loves?) or what I'm up to (drama, ha!) and that's just stupid. So yeah, I wrote her a letter. It was mostly one of those Christmas update letters you get, but I hope funnier with side notes about how GG's teeth are coming in like a jack-o-lantern, and how FB gets letters sent home from his teacher because he skips and can't just walk, and how MG sounds like Miss Piggy when she yells, "HI-YAH!" and how I'm called the "Email Queen" at work because no one says no to me when I ask for theirs.

I hope she still has the same email address. I hope she responds. I'd hate to continue my life feeling resentment or even just unfinished business. Certainly our relationship has changed, but I'd hate to think that it's over.

Listening to: the rain

xo. kb.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011


I don't want to be guarded. I don't want to be tentative, or nervous, or afraid to be vulnerable. I just want to be me. And I want that to be okay.

Things I don't know.

I've had a lot of weird experiences of knowing things before/as they happen. I've written about this before. I dreamed of my mom dying the minute she died, knew it would happen my entire childhood, which btw is a creepy thing to grow up with, okay? Anyhoo. I know who's calling when the phone rings. Can think of a person and they'll text or call. I know which couples will last and which will fail, know who's dating but keeping it a secret, and can match-make like you wouldn't believe.

Most of these things I keep to myself. Not going to lie, because I'd hate to be wrong in front of someone. But usually I'm not. And there are some things I know and don't share because I only have a vague idea of its importance, or I have a hunch and just don't want to jinx it. Yeah, I'm superstitious like that.

But there are some things I just don't know.

Like lottery numbers. And even if I did, I wouldn't share that because I believe in fair. Also money makes you crazy.
Like if The Jealous Sound will actually ever finish that album that we've been waiting for since the Got Friends EP came out, which they said would be done in March. It's freaking May, fellows. Just in case you weren't aware.
Like which book of mine is going to be the one that freaks out and becomes important. (Although I have a strong suspicion it will be WCP. But then again JALR is so dear to me, and ATW is so sad, yet inspirational, and LIP, not lip, is so gray and wonderful...)
Like how is this going divorce shit going to work out? Will we hate each other forever? Can we co-parent successfully? Will we always embody this bitterness and will it spill all over everything else? Can you move on? Will you let me?

I wish I knew it all. I wish I could say that that album comes out in June and everyone loves Natalie and S and I stop fighting tomorrow. But I don't know that. There's this beautiful line in an Indigo Girls song. "I said to you the one gift which I'd adore, the package of the next ten years all unfolding. But you told me if I had my way I'd be bored." So true. Part of the joy, the excitement, the nervous anticipation of life is that, hunches aside, there's no actual way of knowing what or how things will happen next. And maybe that's a good thing. Maybe knowing ahead of time takes away from the experience. Like mourning my mother my entire childhood, rather than just when I was eighteen and she got sick. I missed her before she was gone. And in missing her, I missed out on living with her. Maybe not knowing exactly the end result makes it this wonderful surprise. This beautiful unfolding I couldn't, in my wildest dreams, imagine.

Listening to: my Jeremy Enigk playlist.

xo. kb.

Monday, May 23, 2011


I'm not this, like, poetry person. Okay, I went through this Sylvia Plath phase in high school (that's lasted until... well, it's still happening, but whatever), and I actually wrote quite a few notebooks full of (blackmail-worthy) poems, but it's not something I read to read. There's something about the break of lines that bothers me. As you may be able to tell, I'm a huge fan of the paragraph. I like the extensive thought, the run-on, the burst of words like a cloud. I like the words that sit like a pile that you need to absorb and sift through.

But I read this dreamy and tense book called ANNA AND THE FRENCH KISS and there was all this Pablo Neruda in it, so I decided to check out a collection from the library. Oh man and holy shit.

Here's one of my favorite bits from One Hundred Love Sonnets:

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quintratue.

Me again. Talk about desire. Oh. (That oh actually sounded kinda loud and drawn out and lusty, in case you were hearing while reading.) So yeah. Hawt. Apparently not all poetry is about poppies and bee keepers. Who knew?

Listening to: Death Cab For Cutie "Transatlanticism" because it's my favorite album of theirs.


Saturday, May 21, 2011

Show me.

It's not that I'm blaming God or anything, I'd just like to see His spreadsheet, because I think the numbers are off.

Friday, May 20, 2011

Out and about in Big Chicago.

The kids had the day off school. There's a lot we should probably have done around the house, cleaning, maybe some more cleaning, and then there's that cleaning that needs to get done... but, honestly, cleaning's kinda lame and I hate it, the kids hate it, and it was absolutely gorgeous outside. So we decided to pack a lunch and go to Millennium Park.

I love MP. Love it. First time I was there was just passing through, on the way to Pritzker Pavillion to see Rogue Wave and DCFC. (Which, btw, was an oh yeah awesome show. Brought this one *points to self* to tears, and I'm anti-crying under most circumstances.) It was a warm June night, almost dark, and Crown Fountain was alive with kids running, splashing, screaming. I went back in the daytime with the kiddos a few weeks later. It's a blast to run around in the water at CF, to wait for the giant LED tower faces to spit, to sit in the sun surrounded by smooching couples, drippy kids, sunbathing art students, tourists. Good things abound at Millennium Park. Art and nature, music. It's the place I was at when I got my very first partial request. *love*

So we never plan our trip to MP, just go there when we need good mood, and man if today wasn't a great day for that. We're all sunburnt and exhausted and just a little more calm.

Listening to: Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin's Daytrotter Session from 3.23.06


Wednesday, May 18, 2011


My GG is this sensitive and sweet girl. Ambiance in the house has been awkward at best, and it's obvious that Mom's in a funk place, and she's an over-compensator. Is volunteering to help with dishes, her brother's homework, cooking. It's sweet. Really. I so need her help, any help, and I love *love* that she gets the emotional climate here and wants to alleviate it.

She's been giving me extra hugs. So please do not judge me here, because I know that some people, when emotional, want to be held and snuggled and loved. I am not those people. When I'm emotional I Do. Not. Want. To. Be. Touched. Just please, leave me alone and let me think and deal in my way. Give me some space. When I'm ready, I'll come around. And it's been difficult because I know that she's coming from this beautiful place when she puts her arms around me, and it makes me sad that I get it and at the same time resent the pressure it puts on me to hug her back.

So we had a conversation. I explained to her that I know she loves me and is acting in a loving way, but the best way you can show a person you care for them is to ask them what they need and how they need it and then give that to them the way they said. So for instance, I told her I appreciated how she was helping around the house, but needed her to ask about the hugs first. Because it was her impulse to give, but my impulse to put my hands in the air and cringe and that wasn't working for either of us.

And I thought we were on the same page until the next time she saw me freaking out and moved in for the hug. She didn't get it. I'm not blaming her; she's a kid and she's learning and I'm not so self-centered that I don't understand that lessons need more than one conversation to be absorbed. So we had the conversation again. And it's fine, I'll have it a million times with her if I need to. Because it's important. Give people what they need in the way they need it.

I could stand to learn it myself.

I'm a preacher who doesn't practice, and I apologize.

Listening to: Jeremy Enigk "World Waits" because it's the greatest album ever made.


St. Vincent - Landmines

This is my song on repeat. I'm working out the guitar, but it's not my best instrument. Mostly, I sing this a cappella.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

The unknown.

It was a tumultuous last week. Few weeks. Month. Year. Years. But definitely the last week. *Deep breath* *Shakes head* Rough. Like everything around me spinning out of control, nothing pinned down, all of life up in the air like some destructive F5. Through this I am mom-ing and working, trying to maintain some kind of normalcy for the kids. I've been doing a lot of exercising (3-4 times a day), not eating, not sleeping/only wanting to sleep, over tweeting/boycotting social media... I'm pretty sure this is normal.

But it's difficult. I hate the messy phases of life, when it's all dark tunnel and you have to trust that there's a light and an end somewhere. Trust isn't a comfortable place. It's lonely and terrifying and requires complete submission. But I'm doing it anyway because that trust, that faith, that hopefulness is all I have right now.

The optimist in me screams that things will turn out exactly as they should. I'm holding onto that. I had a conversation with a friend the other day, and we discussed life in the context of God's Plan. We agreed that just because we don't know what The Plan is, doesn't mean It doesn't exist. St. Vincent's Annie Clark said something similar in her song "Laughing With A Mouth of Blood." I can't see the future, but I know it's got big plans for me. I like to believe that's true.

In the meantime, I'm moving forward. I have an interview tomorrow. I have my own checking account. I've started writing again. And I have an amazing group of friends, some of which I know only through Twitter (a testimony to the goodness of people), who are supporting me with kind and encouraging words, and by listening to me when I need to vent. Thank you girls, by the way. You do me more good than I could express.

Listening to: Florence & The Machine


Saturday, May 14, 2011

Menomena - Queen Black Acid (Live on KEXP)

I run through it.

I have a bum right knee and it flared up on my run this morning. Not cool, knee. I needed to breathe, to feel the burn, to feel better. So I told myself that I couldn't feel the pain. That it didn't exist. And I repeated that lie until I'd gotten two miles in.

Monday, May 9, 2011

Blank first pages or allowing the mess.

I throw little pieces of me into my writing, sample-sized quirks to add to my characters' dimension, their realness.

The spoon thing from my "First Page" post is totally me. I can't choose silverware, a writing utensil, or a coffee mug without spending an extended period of time analyzing which one feels like the right choice. (Side note: Do not let me pick things for you, I'm on a wrong mug kick.) Other ridiculous quirks that I've so generously given to my characters: Eliza cries on the kitchen floor, Jess pairs each person in her life with their own song, and Amanda journals in notebooks but always leaves the first page blank.

It's that last one I'm thinking about this morning. I have a collection of notebooks. It's like when I worked for Starbucks and people always gave me coffee mugs, once they find out I write they give me a blank notebook. It's a nice gift, and they're all really great paper (thick) with lovely covers. Problem is, I can't bring myself to write in them. When I write on my computer I can change my mind, delete, add, and the page is still clean. Not the case on paper. Every scratch off, every ^ and added word or phrase is a blight. I'm so bad about this, I write out my thoughts on scratch paper first, then copy the final version in my notebook using my best pen and my best handwriting. And the first page itself is the worst, because it sets the tone for the notebook. That first page needs to be brilliant and how can it be? What's significant enough to go on that first page? I end up leaving it blank because I just can't seem to live up to its expectation.

Yeah, I know.

The thing is, I'm trying to change. I took a baby step this morning and wrote out a first draft of what is either a poem or song lyrics (which I suck at generally, but this isn't bad) in my nicest notebook. Yeah, I used a new pen and my neatest penmanship, but I also added a word and scratched off a misspelling. So progress, right? And how's this: once I finish, I'll post it. If it stays a poem, I'll take a picture of it all messy and put that up. If I can turn it into a song, I'll take a chance at looking like a fool and post a video of me performing it. How unVirgo-like of me! (Who has two thumbs and high dives all the time now? *waves thumbs at self* This girl.)

Listening to: St. Vincent "Landmines" on repeat

xo. kb.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

In which I share the personal and private.

Not gonna lie, my life is in an uproar. A thousand different personal tragedies swirling around and I feel their weight like wearing a lead vest while trying to swim upstream. I'm afloat, but it's a struggle.

Simply stated, S and I are divorcing. We've agreed to keep the details to ourselves, so I won't be talking about any specifics, but I will say that this is a stressful and trying time for both of us. Obviously.

Everyone handles grief differently. I'm not a crier- it's just not a thing that I do- but I was able to get out a good alcohol-induced, cathartic sob-fest last night. It's amazing how drunk you can get on two glasses of cheap red wine if all you've eaten is a granola bar. Seriously, if money's tight that's the way to go. Anyway, body-buckling, mascara-smearing, audible sobs on the kitchen floor last night and I felt some relief. Enough to gain a little clarity and to know that I can handle shit. Now I will cocoon.

I've deactivated my facebook account and deleted all my twitter apps. I can't handle the busy, the stream of noise. I need to quietly reflect and focus on what's going on in my life, because it's kind of a big deal. Not saying that I don't want to keep in touch with people, because I very much need support right now, but I need it on a personal and private level. Which is why I'm blogging about it, yeah I get the contradiction. I'm rolling my own eyes at myself. (Although I argue that without posting a link on social media, maybe two people total will read this anyway). But the blog is my outlet, a place for me to collect my thoughts and share. It's in me to reach out, and it's important that I do.

So yes, I'm dealing in my own way by over-listening to Band of Horses (don't judge), vulnerable blogging, dressing like a dirty hipster, and embracing my inner, non-cutting, emo girl. It's fine. No, for real, it'll be fine. I've got some turmoil, I have some challenges (like figuring out the perfect proportion of coffee for an 8-cup pot because I can't drink 12 alone), and I have some fear and sadness. But I'm fairly sure all this is normal.

And I'm certain I'll emerge stronger. Just watch me. In the meantime, please keep my family in your thoughts and prayers. We need them. And don't hesitate to contact me. A few of you have my email/phone info. It would be nice to know that even though I'm on hiatus, I'm not forgotten.

Listening to: Band of Horses (obvs)